


There are times when I can't breathe, except for when I'm with you.

by weaslayyy



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 47,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaslayyy/pseuds/weaslayyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake and Amy over the years, working their way through problems and cups of chamomile tea in equal measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cup, the first

Amy’s had some type of anxiety for as long as she can remember. It’s a fact of life for her: Detective Amy Santiago is 5 feet 4 inches, enjoys wearing gabardine pant suits and is often anxious.

It’s not debilitating, mostly. She manages it, generally. She relies on a combination of pills and therapy and Jake Peralta to keep her anxiety under control, and it’s been working for her. She’s one of the best detectives in her precinct, certainly the one most likely to be recommended for a leadership position (other than Rosa, but she isn’t really sure Rosa even wants to be a Captain). She’s got a killer mentor, is reasonably well liked, has friends even. She tells her therapist that her anxiety isn’t even in the top ten of what she deals with on a daily basis. She forgets she even has anxiety, honestly.

She lies to her therapist sometimes, but that’s not important right now.

So yes, maybe she downplays the anxiety, but it’s not like she’s panicking all the time. Sometimes she’ll wake up in the morning and she’ll feel it deep inside, the nausea and the knowing that today is going to be a bad day, maybe even the worst.

Before, she’d call her parents or Kylie. One or all of them would talk her through the shortness of breath, encourage her long distance to put one foot on the cold floor and then the other, to walk into the bathroom and splash water on her face. To eat some breakfast, put on her favorite pant suit and walk into the precinct with no one the wiser.

This all changes the day she breaks down in front of Jake.

It’s about a year into their partnership: they’ve just started to understand each other, figure out quirks and inside jokes, establish coffee orders and where to draw the line between their respective desk areas. She likes him, against her better judgement. She trusts him to have her back, but if she could go back she wouldn’t have had him find out this way. Then again, she doesn’t think she would have had him find out at all.

He does, regardless of what she wanted. In the future, she’ll look back and be thankful. Right now, she wants to die.

Or at least be absorbed into the comforting depths of Mother Earth. That’s a thing, right? She’s a little woozy when hyperventilating. She’s sitting in the corner of the evidence lockup in the aftermath of a shoot out. The inside of her brain has flattened into the sides of her skull, she can’t concentrate past the mistakes she thinks she must have made. She wants to throw up. She can’t breathe.

She can see Jake standing in front of her, gaping as she tries to get some semblance of control over her breathing patterns. Amy wants to yell at him, wants to wipe that expression off of his face, wants him to leave her alone to die from how little oxygen her brain is getting right now. Instead, she can feel tears starting to trickle down her cheeks, which seems to bring Jake out of whatever trance he was in. He snaps into action, goes to lock the door before kneeling in front of her. He holds his hands out, asking if she’ll let him touch her. She isn’t sure yet. He nods, and places his hands a little above her arms, hovering until she gives him the ok.

“Hey Santiago. Look at me, alright?” he mimicks a deep breath, exaggerating his inhale. She tries to copy him, and fails. More tears.

“Hey it's ok, you don’t have to get it right on the first try we’ll try again, it’s okay Santiago, relax,” she hears him rambling distantly and it’s strangely comforting, this side of him that seems to know exactly what to say. Amy knows that Peralta has built up a reputation as one of the better negotiators on the Force, that he’s gotten calls from other precincts to help them talk a jumper off the ledge. She’s actually heard him do it, talk someone down over the phone while the two of them were on a stakeout.

It’s one of the reasons she hasn’t transferred. Jake Peralta is a good cop, and despite all his efforts to mask it, a good man as well.

She tunes back into what he’s been saying, looks at him in the eyes and tries to pay attention. It’s hard, and she wants to tell him that she isn’t ignoring him on purpose, opens her mouth to apologize.

“It’s fine, I know it isn’t easy to focus right now,” he says. “Do you think you can try that deep breath now?” She nods, and grabs his still outstretched hands. She breathes with him, in-2-3-4-5-6-7. They hold their breath for another seven seconds. Exhale for five. They repeat the cycle over and over again, until Amy’s mind starts to clear a little. She notices that his hands have moved, that they’re stroking her arms in time with their breathing.

After a couple more minutes, she nods and he moves away. She thinks he’s going to leave, and is both relieved and terrified about that prospect until he takes a seat next to her against the wall, shifting so that they’re connected from shoulder to foot, a comforting presence without being too overwhelming.

They sit in more silence than she thought Peralta was capable of, listening to Amy as she tries to get herself under control. She closes her eyes, tries to visualize shoving all of her anxiety some place else, or unraveling the ball of tension inside her gut, any of the images she’s picked up over the years that never seem to work.

“It wasn’t your fault Santiago.” He’s still using The Voice, quieter and full of a depth he doesn’t let anyone else see, and she barely resists the urge to curl up into his body like she wants to curl into his words. “Sometimes shit happens, you know?”

Not to her. She makes plans so that shit doesn’t happen, because she knows this is going to go on her record, and it's going to be hard enough to make Captain as Latina and shit like this is just going to make it harder, and she’s starting to breathe faster again--

“Come on Santiago,” he gets up and puts his hands out to pull her up. “We’re getting out of here.”

He says them as statements, making the decision for her. Usually she’d balk at this, protest at him thinking he knows what she needs to do. Right now, she can’t think straight so she decides to follow him, as long as she can leave whenever she wants. Jake doesn’t seem like the type of person to force her into anything.

He leads her outside of the evidence locker, holding her hand as they walk out of the precinct to his car. He unlocks the door, opens it and gestures for her to get in. She doesn’t look at him the whole time he drives back to his apartment, only raising her head when he’s opened the door for her to exit the car. They walk inside together, and Amy barely has time to recognize that she’s never been in his apartment before he’s leading her to the couch. They sit.

She doesn’t know what to say, or how to start. Fortunately, he solves the problem for her.

“Depression. Anxiety too.”

She blinks. Does he mean her, or...

“The anxiety started after my dad left. I’d think that everyone around me was leaving, everytime my mom walked out the door I’d start panicking that she might never come back.” He’s talking into his hands, voice not much louder than a whisper. She moves a little closer to him. “The depression...sometimes I just can’t get out of bed, you know?”  
  
She does. She really, really does.

“Everything just hurts, and I can’t muster the energy to bring my legs over the side of my bed.” She frowns, because her experience with getting up is different, but similar. “I just...I’m empty sometimes, and I try to fill the gap by making other people feel for me, feel happy if I can manage it.”

Many things about Jake Peralta are starting to make a lot more sense. She takes a breath, holds it for seven seconds and exhales before she starts speaking.

“I’m always....anxious. I’m just so worried all the time about everything in my life and it's just so overwhelming, you know? I just don’t know what to do when I’m not in control.” She snorts, “The OCD really doesn’t help.” He smiles, giving her enough courage to continue.

“I’ve been trying to keep it under control, but I can never really see the big picture: just the millions of small details I try to keep track of and make them all perfect,” she starts tapping her fingers against her knee. “And I just obsess over everything until I’m hyperventilating and everything sucks.”

He laughs at that last one, and agrees. He gets up, beckoning for Amy to follow him as they walk into his kitchen. She takes a seat on his countertop, as he rifles through his cabinet and pulls out two mugs. He searches for something in the back, muttering as he pushes things aside, and swears when he bangs his head on the inside of the cabinet. Amy giggles.

Jake smiles when he pulls his head out, hand gripping a bundle of packets. Chamomile, she reads on one of them.

“It don’t put me to sleep,” he explains, “but I like it. ”

Amy, too, likes chamomile tea. It’s not a preference she thought she would share with her partner, but in light of everything else it makes sense. She gets up, takes the mugs and fills them with water before heating them in his microwave for two minutes. When the timer chimes, she takes the mugs out and carries them to the countertop and lets him dunk one satchel in each cup. They watch the tea steep for a moment, and take a seat on the countertop. Jake’s brought a bottle of honey and placed it in between the cups along with a silver spoon. When she’s judged that the tea has been steeped long enough she tells him to throw them away while she mixes exactly one spoon of honey into each mug and stirs until she knows that every sip will be perfectly sweetened.

Two perfect cups of chamomile tea. She feels better already.

They settle next to each other on the counter, Amy swinging her legs from her seat while Jake just leans against the cabinets, both of them sipping their tea in silence.

When they’re done, Jake takes her empty cup and puts them both in the sink grabbing her hand and tugging her with his tea-warmed one as he walks back to the couch. They sit again, but closer together than before. There’s a feeling in the room that if they start talking they might never stop, that this could be the start of something neither of them feel prepared for. In that moment she knows that opening her mouth would signify taking a step with Jake Peralta, and she doesn’t know that she particularly wants to take that step right now.

So she doesn’t. Instead, she asks him what his favorite cop movie is, knowing that he’ll get distracted at the prospect of sacrificing another victim at the altar of Die Hard. It works, and they spend the rest of the night watching all four movies, taking breaks to drink more cups of chamomile tea and argue about whether or not any one man really could do everything Bruce Willis did. No, like _really_.

They agree to disagree while he drives her back to her apartment, and when he stops in front of her building she places a hand over his on the steering wheel.

“Thanks Peralta,” she says. “For the tea. I enjoyed it, surprisingly.” He smiles.

“No problem, Santiago.” He looks at her, his eyes serious despite the grin. “Come over anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like im spamming you all with how much I'm posting, but writing b99 fic is so easy and also stress relief and I have all of this just sitting on my google drive. this is kind of like the jake&rosa like in terms of a relationship over the years but obv i ship jake and amy really hard so they're going to be together at some point here. tbh all the relationships in this show are so good so ill probably explore as many of them as possible because i love them so much.


	2. cup, the second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy learns how to tell the difference between Jake and Peralta.

The thing is, Peralta is very different from Jake, which makes for some very confusing personal interactions.

Santiago and Peralta are the two top detectives at the Nine-Nine, snarky as hell and devoted to one upping each other at any given opportunity. They race around the city, mocking each other’s mannerisms and lifestyle while interrogating suspects and putting perps behind bars.

Santiago often fantasizes about flushing Peralta’s head down the ladies’ toilet, the one that always clogs around her time of the month. Peralta just wants her to smoke some weed.

And then there’s Jake. Jake, who gave Amy the key to his apartment the day after her breakdown, left it in her jacket pocket with a note that invited her to make use of his couch and his tea if he wasn’t home. Also if he was, though the note specified to call ahead if she thought he might have someone over.

 _I don’t want you to be overcome with jealousy over your specimen of a partner_ , it read at the end, followed by a series of emoticons. She looked across the room and nodded at him, acknowledging the act while planning to place his key in a very safe, very secure place and never thinking about it again.

She lasts a week.

It’s 4 in the morning on a Sunday and Amy can’t sleep: she’s just wrapped up a case but she can’t remember if she filled out every section in the paper work, if she included a proper explanation for every piece of evidence needed to build the case. She’s running a thousand different realities in her head when she turns the light on and gives up. She takes out her phone and scrolls through the people she could call: its too early to talk to her parents, too late to call Kylie so she’ll have to just work it out on her own.

There’s Jake, a part of her says, but she ignores it. She tries to cope. Doesn’t do very well, and eventually just texts him three words and waits for a response she’s convinced she won’t receive.

A few minutes later, he texts back. Do you need me to pick you up? Somewhere in the back of her mind she notes that he’s using proper grammar and capitalization and wonders if it's for her benefit (it is).

She blinks, thinks about her answer. Can she drive? Physically, yes. Was it in her best interests to try and maneuver the streets in the middle of an anxiety attack? She texts him her address, puts on her coat and waits at the door. He texts her a general estimate for when he should arrive, which Amy recognizes as a way to put her at ease.

He arrives exactly 1 minute early and knocks three times in quick succession. When she opens the door, she expects to see a little annoyance, a little exasperation that his partner woke him up in the middle of night because she couldn’t keep it together. Honestly, she expects a little glee over the fact that Detective Santiago has fallen to pieces over something this ridiculous and innocuous.

What she doesn’t expect is a sympathetic smile and a travel sized mug thrust in her general direction. She looks at him and takes a sip, involuntarily smiling over the perfectly sweetened cup of chamomile tea he’s made for her. He asks if she’s ready to go and follows her outside, gesturing at where he’s parked his car across the street.

They drive back to Jake’s place in silence, but for some reason it isn’t awkward. It’s just quiet, peaceful even.

Amy feels ten times better by the time they’re walking into his apartment, and she feels even more of the nervous tension recede when she notices the blankets he’s piled on his couch. There’s a pot of what she assumes is boiling water sitting on his coffee table, right next to the two mugs they drank from the last time. The bottle of honey is upside down, and there’s a spoon balanced across the top of the cups.

They sit. Amy places the travel mug on the floor and makes them each a new cup of chamomile tea, stirring one spoon of honey after letting the tea bags steep for three minutes. They sip for a few minutes, before Jake puts his mug on the table and turns towards her, folding up one leg in the process.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He busies himself with a blanket while she thinks about her answer, pulling it out from underneath them and spreading it over their laps.

“I think so?” That was the whole point of waking him up, so that he could listen to her and tell her that she was being weird, that it was just the anxiety talking. She still isn’t sure if she made the right decision, but his eyes are kind when he looks at her so she decides to put her faith in the difference between Peralta and Jake.

“We just wrapped up the case, and I just couldn’t...” she sighs, fidgeting with the blanket. “I know this sounds stupid, but I couldn’t remember if I’d filled out the papers correctly. Like what if I made a mistake and the whole case blew up and he didn’t go to jail and it was all--”

He grabs her hand in both of his, interrupting a speech that was getting louder and more frantic by the second. “Santia--Amy. Amy. Amy. It’s fine, okay?”

She knew this was a mistake. He doesn’t get it. “But what if it’s not fine? I could have done it wrong and I have no way of telling! You can’t just assume that it’s okay Peralta!”

He laughs. “I can, actually. I didn’t finish my part of the paperwork, so I kind of brought it home with me. We can check it right now, if you want.”

She gapes. “That’s against the law, Peralta!”

He shrugs. “McGinley knows, and he doesn’t care.”

She scoffs. “You and Rosa blew up a melon three days ago. McGinley doesn’t care about anything.”

“Now you’re getting it!” He gets up, moves to the side of the room to search through a box she hadn’t noticed before, pulling out the paperwork she had been panicking over. He brings it back, and they comb through everything together, with Amy checking the grammar while Jake checking that everything connected, that she’d mentioned every last piece of evidence and how it all connected to the iron-clad case they had built against their perp.

Amy finds an extra comma. She fixes the offending mark and carefully reassembles the report, placing it back in the box. She avoids looking at Jake, worried about his reaction to her expected wild goose hunt.

“Feeling better?” She blinks, surprised, though maybe she shouldn’t be. This is the second one of her anxiety attacks he’s been with her for, and he’s passed with flying colors both times.

“I am, yeah.” She takes her cup of tea, adds some water from the pot and a new bag of tea to steep. He puts the box back in the corner, and looks at her when he sits back down. He looks like he’s expecting her to speak, but she can’t imagine what he wants to hear.

She turns, keeping the cup between her palms. “What?” she asks. “Is it my face? Oh my god, is there like honey on my forehead, that’s so embarrassing, why did you let that happen Peralta!” She moves to rub her forehead but he catches her hand before she can wipe away whatever it is he’s looking at.

“There’s no honey, I promise.” The smile he’s giving her feels different: it’s not wide like it is at the precinct but it seems more...genuine. He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, trailing his palm across her cheek before he brings his hand to rest on top of their knees. Their legs are touching, she finally notices, and some of the warmth she feels is explained.

“Tell me about yourself, Amy Santiago. Something you’ve never told anyone else in the entire history of the universe.”

She laughs, smiling at the look in his eyes, the light he’s sending in her direction. He laughs too, and moves so that he can put his feet up on the coffee table. He puts his arm around her, drags her to rest somewhere on his collarbone. She moves a little to get comfortable and lets the sleep still trapped in her joints lull them into a peaceful silence.

Amy thinks about answering his question, wonders about what she could tell him that she’s never revealed to anyone else in her life. She turns her head a little and realizes that he’s fallen into a doze.

She thinks about the crick in her neck she’ll have in the morning, about how awkward it might be to wake up cuddled with your partner. She puts her feet up on the coffee table and relaxes, closing her eyes against the hundreds of problems she can see developing from this moment.

Amy falls asleep to the scent of honey and the constant rhythm of Jake’s heartbeat.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so im definitely spamming everyone with my work but im so excited about this one...which i mean im excited about pretty much everything about this show lets be honest. BUT this one is basically my own personal wish fulfillment because im such trash for this trope and im going to continue writing it until i hit where the show is at. (its probably going to be more than 5 chapters then) if you liked this chapter, or have an idea for an episode or scene or trope that amy and jake can drink chamomile tea after leave it in the comments and we can flail about it.


	3. cup, the third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas, but not like Amy was expecting.

When she invites Jake to her house for Christmas weekend, she expects him to be many things: obnoxious, charming, funny, hyperactive. She expects bad table manners and an instant rapport with her seven brothers, harmless flirting in her mother’s general direction and an attempt at genuine conversation with her father. She expects him to be Jake Peralta, her partner who she invited to spend Christmas with her family.

Instead, he’s polite. He’s quiet. Keeps his hands to himself, smiles without his teeth. He shakes hands with her parents, introduces himself as ‘Detective Peralta, Santiago’s partner at the Nine-Nine.’ He passes the potatoes when asked, contributes to conversations he’s invited to and uses his fork and knife impeccably. He doesn’t take seconds.

Throughout dinner, different members of her family look at Jake and then raise their eyebrows at Amy. To be honest, the Jake sitting to her right resembles most of her former boyfriends, and her family’s never ever gotten along with a guy she’s brought home. She can’t bring it up at dinner, or at the excruciatingly awkward gathering around the fire afterwards. He’s almost distant, she realizes. It’s like he lost his head somewhere on the highway, and hasn’t managed to cross the distance between the clouds and her parents’ living room.

She’s told her family so much about him, how much he loves the Nets and how he hasn’t gone to the doctor in years. They know about his beat up car and his tendency to eat gummy bears inside of a fruit roll up for breakfast. Amy doesn’t know how to explain the mannequin sitting exactly 5 inches away from her, so when everyone heads up to bed she reaches over to keep him on the couch.

She grabs his hand, ignoring his flinch, and drags him to the kitchen. She gestures for him to take a seat at the table in the corner while she looks through the cabinets, trying to remember where her mother keeps the tea. She finds the boxes, searches through the packets for the chamomile. He’s looking at her, eyes blank as if she could be substituted with a blank wall. She makes two cups, sets one down at his right elbow and takes a seat across from him.

“Jake,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

He blinks, focusing on her and she can see him grasping for an answer, something that she’ll accept and dismiss so that she’ll just leave him alone. She tries to arrange her face so that he’ll realize it won’t work on her, hopes that her eyes show him that she’s frustrated, but she cares, too.

He opens his mouth, closes it and swallows. He starts fiddling with the cup, bites his lip.

“It’s your family, Santiago,” he whispers. “They’re important to you.”

She’s about to say something, when she realizes she has no idea what to say. He continues, stirring the tea while he speaks.

“I just....you love them a lot, and you’re inviting me to your place for Christmas.” She nods. “It’s important to you. I didn’t want to be all...me, and ruin it.”

He looks small, hunched into himself over the cup as he avoids her eyes. She exhales, reaches over the table to place her hand over his. She twines their fingers together, rubs her thumb over the back of his hand for a minute as she tries to figure out how to tell him that she invited him to her house, not some weird version that he seems to think will be better received.

“Hey. Jake.” She takes a breath. “No one expects you to be anyone but yourself, okay?”

He laughs at that, loud and derisive and horrible. She wants to cover her ears, but instead she tightens her grip on his hand.

“People don’t invite me home Santiago.” He sounds so certain, and there’s a piece of her heart that’s breaking over how much he believes what he’s saying. She moves her chair to his side of the table, touches his knee with hers and leans her head on his shoulder.

“I did, Jake.” She doesn’t know what else she can say. They’re colleagues, partners, certainly friends after all these years sitting across from each other. There are a million things about him that exasperate her, but she cares about him for a million more.

She gets it though, the self doubt. The self loathing. She knows what it's like to wake up and look in the mirror and hate her reflection, pick apart every aspect of herself and forget to build back the pieces of her shattered self respect.

She forgets sometimes about that conversation they had that day Jake found her in the evidence locker, about the depression and anxiety he’d confessed to dealing with.

 _I can’t get out of bed_ , she remembered. _I’d think that everyone was leaving_.

There’s a hollow in her chest when she looks at him. She thinks about the last couple of weeks, remembers how over exaggerated he seemed, how his smiles constantly split his face and his voice was three times too loud. She’d assumed that Jake was just getting into the holiday spirit, but now she’s not so sure. She’ll do better next time, she swears.

He’s got his heads in his hands, now. She moves her hand, and starts combing her fingers through his curls.

“I invited you, okay?” She plays with a couple strands. “You haven’t been doing too well for a bit, have you?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t really....Christmas isn’t great for me.”

She nods, and then realizes he can’t see it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugs. Once, after his confession, Amy looked up the symptoms of depression and she compares them now to the picture in front of her.  

“Do you want to go to bed?” Another shrug. She gets up, coaxes him out of his chair and moves them back to the sofa, going back to bring the cups of tea. She places the mugs on the floor and lies down, stretching out on the sofa and ignores the shock on Jake’s face. She nudges him with her back to lie down with her, and eventually they’re face to face, with Amy’s arm wrapped around his waist and his wrapped around hers. There’s amusement in the far corner of his eyes, an incredulity mixed with shock at how un-Santiago she’s being right now. She smiles, and nuzzles a little closer into the hollow of his neck.

“Hi,” she smiles wide.

Jake laughs slightly, tightening his grip a little. “Hello,” he replies, if a little bewildered.

“So, Jake.” He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else in the entire history of the universe!”

He laughs again, and suddenly his spine relaxes. He curves into her, brushes his lips against her forehead and hums, pretending to think long and hard about what he’s going to tell her.

He clears his throat and whispers. “Once, Gina and I skipped class to sneak into a concert.” She glares, unimpressed.

“Try again, Peralta. Clearly, Gina already knows all about that.” He snorts, and spends a few minutes thinking.

“Well....Gina knows this one too, but I think you’ll like it.” He’s smiling, and Amy thinks it feels real. He’s rubbing his fingers across her back, drawing nonsensical patterns as he speaks. “When Gina and I were like 13 or something, we were on the roof of my nana’s building. I was...I can’t really remember right now but I was probably doing her nails or eyeshadow or whatever, but anyways we were talking on the roof and...”

He’s blushing, and she’s intrigued. She waits for him to start talking again, squeezes in encouragement.

“It was something dumb, about the people we were going to marry or whatever...and I think I said something about wanting my first kiss to be with someone I liked a lot..”

She thinks she can see where this is going, and she’s horrified and endeared in equal amounts. The picture of a baby Jake insisting on his first kiss being with a person he liked isn’t something she would have guessed, but like many things with Jake it makes perfect sense if she thinks about it.

“Gina kissed you, didn’t she?” He’s been sputtering for a good minute, so she decides to be merciful. He nods, cheeks scarlet. She starts giggling, progresses to laughter, almost crosses the line into hysterics at the thought of Gina Linetti kissing Jake because he wanted his first to be with someone who cared about him. It’s the most perfect thing she’s ever heard, only superseded by the sound of Jake’s laughter joining in with hers.

She loses track of time as they laugh, the sounds bouncing off the walls as they each try to stop, look at each other and laugh harder. At some point, she realizes that they’re laughing at each other’s laughter, but she can’t stop, doesn’t think she really wants to.

“Wait, you did Gina’s nails?” A new idea stops her cold,and she can’t believe she didn’t pick up on that earlier. When he nods, still giggling a little, she jumps off the sofa and runs up as quickly as she can without waking up the whole house. She hunts through the boxes in the corner of her closet, tries to find all the supplies she’s collected from her abuelas and tias over the years and never used. Amy’s never been good at makeup, but apparently Jake is.

She brings them all down in her arms, and places them on the floor next to the tea. She instructs him to figure out everything he needs to do her nails while she makes them both a new cup of tea, and by the time she’s back he’s laid everything out in a line. He’s smiling faintly as he fiddles with the nail bottles, and she knows this was the right call.

She sits cross legged in front of him, and he takes her left hand. He’s more relaxed while he works, absent minded but able to concentrate on the stray pieces of gossip they discuss. She tells him some of her more amusing anecdotes from her childhood, details the pranks she fell victim to and the pranks she’d plan out in her diary as revenge. He smiles and nods and laughs in all the right places, heaping praise at the end of each story when the crusading Amy Santiago serves justice to her mean older brothers. He counters with stories from his childhood with Gina, adventures they found in the streets and the people that they met together.

He stops every once in awhile to tell her what he’s doing, show her how to achieve the same result when he’s no longer there to do her nails for her. She wonders why it can’t always be this easy for them, but then again she doesn’t know that she could give up the mutual competition they have at work. She likes both sides of Jake Peralta, she realizes for the first time. Wouldn’t want to lose either one she has the pleasure of knowing.

He finishes, releases her hands to dry and moves next to her. He drags the tea next to him, places his mug in between his thighs and holds her mug to her lips. She drinks, and he puts the cup between them. She rests her head on his shoulder, and they pass another hour like that: him raising the cup to her lips every once in awhile, punctuated by stories from their lives before they met, and the sounds of their soft laughter.

Amy knows that this isn’t it, that one night won’t really help Jake in the big scheme, but she thinks it could be a start.

In the morning, her entire family find the two of them acting out that one time Jake had to insert himself into a prostitution ring. He’s trying to remember his stripper dance moves, and Amy’s pretending to be the overly enthusiastic matron who chased him down three blocks in hot pants. It had been about a month after Amy joined the Nine-Nine, and what Amy remembers most vividly is how Jake had immediately volunteered for the position after he’d noticed how awkward Rosa had been when Terry had suggested she be the mole.

She puts a little oomph into her step, sidles up to Jake and tries to be the best horny grandma she can possibly be, until she hears someone choke behind her. She spin, knocks down the (thankfully) empty mug and stares at all of her brothers, their families and her parents crammed into the doorway as they watch her and Jake.

She can sense Jake stiffening behind her, and she can see Manuel start grinning so she grabs Jake’s hand and drags him over to step on Manuel’s foot, hard. She pushes through the crowd with Jake in tow, and they sit at the dining table, in the same chairs as last night. Papa take his seat at the head of the table, raises an eyebrow at Amy and gestures at Jake. She nods, and Papa asks what Jake thinks about the Nets. Papa literally could not care less about basketball, but it’s a topic bound to excite 3/4 of her brothers and also Mama.

Jake looks at her and smiles before launching into a detailed review of their most recent plays and acquisitions. Her brothers are shocked for a moment at how deep he gets into their formations and specific calls made by the coach before they start chiming in with comments of their own.

Soon, the table is as loud as she had imagined it would be, the day she invited Jake Peralta to spend Christmas weekend with her family. She squeezes the hand she hadn’t realized she was still holding, lets go and moves to the kitchen to see if she can help Mama bring in the breakfast dishes, waving Jake down when he moves to help as well.

They’re both going to be just fine, she promises. For once, she thinks she can actually believe it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a fan of jake meeting amy's family and super getting along with them from the start, but i thought of this and i couldn't get it out of my head. idk how it turned out, so tell me what you think in the comments! thank you so much for all the positive feedback though, im so glad everyone likes...angst with a happy ending (still need a better name) as much as i do!


	4. cup, the fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy tries to leave, and then she doesn't. A mutual panic on Jake's sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag for 1x15: Operation Broken Feather (the one where Amy almost goes to Major Crimes)

When Amy unlocks the door at one in the morning, Jake’s already started to set up shop on the sofa. He points in the general direction of the kitchen, where she will find all of the tea supplies on the counter, waiting for her to make them each a cup. When she comes back with the tea, Jake’s wrapped two blankets around himself and is avoiding her eyes.

Things were okay right after, when they were running away from the goddamn Vulture after tear gassing his office. They were laughing and high fiving, and neither of them mentioned the roiling fear and anxiety they were each repressing. Jake had wondered if she would just come home with him, but Amy Santiago has always tried things her way before asking for help.

She puts the cups on the table, and creates her own cocoon with a unicorn patterned fleece and a ratty quilt featuring different shirtless men every few inches or so.  Jake thinks about saying something, but he can’t think past the fist clenching his insides. He knows that if he opens his mouth he’ll say something stupid, and this isn’t the time or place for his emotions. Her blankets are shaking, so he’s pretty sure that Amy isn’t in any better shape than he is.

She clears her throat. He takes in a breath and holds it.

“Did I make the right choice?” Her voice wavers, and his stomach flips. “It’ll be okay, right? It’ll all work out.” He opens his mouth to reassure her, but she continues speaking before he can find where to start.

“I mean, the Captain made it when it was super racist and homophobic, so I can make it through sexism and racism, right? I can still be Captain, right?” He turns his head to look at her, and the first thing he notices is the tears in her eyes before she covers her face with her palms. Her blanket cocoon is falling apart.

He should tell her that she’s going to be fine, but suddenly he realizes that he doesn’t know that. Maybe Amy did give up her shot at Captain. He doesn’t think she has, because Amy Santiago is the second best detective at the Nine Nine, likes paperwork and has the entire police code memorized. Jake thinks she could rule the world if she wanted to, but he doesn’t want to lie. He has to say something, though.

“Thank you, Amy.” He blinks, because that’s not what he was expecting to say at all. But, he might as well roll with it. “I know you said you were happy with where you are, and you didn’t do it for me or anything, but just....thanks.”

She hasn’t brought her head up, but the shaking stops. He can feel the silence congealing, so he tries to fill it up with as much background noise as possible, except he can’t control what he’s saying.

“I know I should have supported you but I was just scared, you know?” He starts tapping his foot. “I....you were _leaving_.”

He sighs, takes the cup of tea and starts drinking. He tries to find the words to describe his panic, how everything seemed so fast and he couldn’t think more than one step in advance. He thinks about dandelions he used to pull out of the ground, or those little portable hurricanes he’d win at arcades. He thinks about telling Amy that she shook the snow globe of his life, and the little sparkles are just starting to fall back into place now that he knows she staying.

It’s not an excuse, but at least it’s something.

“If it means anything, I think you’ll make Captain. A crazy, super organized super prepared Captain, who’ll have the most efficient precinct in the entire city.”

He can see the corners of her lips turned upwards just outside of her hands. “Oh yeah?” she says. “And what will you be?”

He snorts, because it's always been obvious. “Your super awesome Detective Sergeant. I’ll be the Terry to your Captain Holt, and I will continue being New York’s Greatest Detective while you do all the boring paperwork and wear your _uniform_ all the time.” He shudders at the thought of the jacket and tie she’ll be forced into, and picks up his tea to finish off the last bit at the bottom.

Amy giggles, unfolds and grabs her own mug.

“At least I won’t have to work for the Vulture.” She frowns instinctively, before she starts laughing.

“Did you see his face?” He did, and he has to put his tea down before he spills it all over the blankets. The two of them have gotten plenty of cases Vultured over the years, important ones that involved hours and days worth of blood and tears. Pembroke is a cheater, and there are few things that Amy Santiago hates more than a dirty trick.

Jake likes to think that she made the right decision.

The laughter between them is tinged a little in hysteria, but neither of them mention it. They make more cups of tea, retelling and reenacting a series of their greatest, wackiest hits. Kids they saved, violent clown protests they disrupted, murder mysteries cracked by the saliva on an abandoned pistachio shell.

“I can’t believe he didn’t just open them in his hand!” Amy interjects. Jake counters with an ode to the delicious salt wasted on the garbage shell no one can even eat.

Eventually, they wind down. The space between their exploits becomes longer, and they’re bodies shift closer together. Jake places his head on her shoulder, and Amy places hers on top. They sit there until he can’t seem to keep track of time, both of them fading in and out of consciousness to the sounds of the other’s breathing.

Jake yawns about an hour later, and at the sound Amy starts to move vaguely in the direction of getting up. He can see what will happen next: she’ll get up, thank him for the tea and leave. They’ll see each other the next morning, pretend that nothing had changed and slip back into the well worn roles they play for each other. It’s what they’ve always done.

For some reason, Jake doesn’t want to go back to normal, not tonight. There are a million issues that remain unresolved, everything that they did and said that they did and didn’t mean. He doesn’t want Amy to go home, not yet.

He rises, and Amy follows him, pulling him away from the walls when he stumbles in their direction. She sits on his bed while he takes off his sweatshirt, wrinkles her nose when he tosses it on the ground. She’s staring at his cupboards, gaze a hundred miles away when he makes a decision. He taps her on the shoulder.

“Hey...it’s late.” He bites his lip. “Do you just wanna....stay over?”

She stares. “On your couch?”

He yawns, and the couch has never seemed further away. He’s exhausted, but he can’t  tell if it's from the panic or just how late it is. “I mean you could, or I could take the couch, or we could both...you know.”   
  
She nods. An hour ago, she would have put up some resistance, talked about impropriety and workplace boundaries. He looks at the clock, and snorts at the time. 4:22 a.m. it says. If Amy left now, she’d probably get home by 4:40, fall into bed at 4:45. Fall asleep by 5, just to wake up an hour and fifteen minutes later.

He lifts the covers, and she gets in. Jake closes his eyes, vaguely notices the warmth and weight that comes from sharing his bed. They shuffle a little towards the space in the middle. Amy puts her arm around his waist, and his eyes shoot open only to notice that she’s already fallen asleep.

Jake exhales, before putting his own hand just underneath her ribcage. It feels like an anchor, physical contact that he can use to organize his mind around. Amy’s still here. She hasn’t left.

Jake leans over to get his phone, sets the alarm to go off at 6 so that they can leave early enough for her to change into the extra pant suit she keeps in her locker. He puts his hand back on her hip

He sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE (11/24): the beginning is different now, because im taking the two ideas in the exposition about their routine and expanding it later in the fic. hope it turns out ok! 
> 
> frick i haven't seen the new episode yet (west coast best coast!) so im posting this to prevent me from actively seeking spoilers. also im still strong on that one chapter a day thing. im having a good time writing this, so i hope you all are having an equally good time reading it. as always, comment below for detailed character analysis and falling apart in general. i tend to respond kind of late because i spend like a day flailing and not knowing what to say but i will get to it and embarrass myself with how enthusiastically happy i am to receive any feedback at all. ALSO im open to writing as many scenes as possible so include whatever you want to see and ill write it at some point!!!!


	5. cup, the fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake doesn't deal well with the realization that his hero is actually a crappy person, until Amy Santiago walks into the evidence lock up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag for 1x08: Old School. (The one with Jimmy Brogan, homophobe extraordinaire)

Jake doesn’t go home when the Captain dismisses him. He’s barely been keeping it together, barely been able to repress the nausea and heartbreak and confusion that’s collected in the depths of his gut since he punched Jimmy Brogan in the face.

He punched _Jimmy Brogan_ in the _face_.

Jake finds his way to the evidence lock up, manages to walk past all the file cabinets to the very back of the room. He can’t believe how everything went so wrong in so little time. Jake’s waited practically his whole life to meet his childhood hero, author of one of the 15 (1/2) books he’s ever read. Jimmy Brogan’s book inspired Jake to become a cop in the first place, but now that he knows what a crappy person Brogan is, Jake’s stuck wondering what type of cop Jake is, anyway.

Can a person so heavily influenced by someone so terrible turn out okay? Jake thinks he’s a good cop, but he also thought Jimmy freaking Brogan was the coolest, most awesome person in New York City.

_Jake Peralta has terrible handwriting. Jake Peralta can’t fill out paperwork. Jake Peralta is reckless. Jake Peralta is unprofessional. Jake Peralta’s locker resembles a dump in the Philippines. Jake Peralta’s desk houses a pet rat. Jake Peralta doesn’t take his job seriously. Jake Peralta arrests people without cause. Jake Peralta bends the rules. Jake Peralta has a butt chin, and his mouth is too wide, and his hair is ugly._

_Jake Peralta is a disaster._

Jake chokes, and the laundry list of his faults playing inside his head stops while he tries to take in air. It would probably be easier for him to just stop breathing all together, but then Charles would cry, and Jake always feels really guilty when he makes Charles feel sad. It kind of feels like kicking a puppy, and Jake tries to stay away from that type of hooliganism.

He’s distracting himself from the topic at hand, but Jake doesn’t know what else to do. He really does think Captain Holt is good at his job, and Brogan is clearly a homophobic sack of shit.

He remembers Amy’s reaction to Brogan back inside Holt’s office, how unexcited and unimpressed she’d seemed at Brogan’s stories. _Illegal_ , she’d said. And she was right, he can’t imagine choking anyone on their ponytail, hippie or not. Actually, Jake knows quite a few hippies and he likes them a lot: Gerald the 70 year old free loving smoothie man likes to give him free samples whenever Jake passes by his cart, and they’re surprisingly good considering how many vegetables he adds.

 _Diaz and Santiago never would have made Detective, and an openly gay man like me never would have been given a command_. Holt’s words are coming back to haunt Jake, and he can see what it must have been like working with a group of asses who thought it was okay to call someone a “homo.” What it must have been like to be a part of the group of detectives Brogan ran with, juicy mustaches and all.

 _Corruption, brutality, sexism_. Jake exhales hard, and leans further into the file cabinet against his back. He thought this would be a dream come true, that he’d be Jimmy Brogan’s new best friend and fulfill all of his childhood fantasies. Instead, he’s probably gotten Holt into trouble, Jake’s in trouble with Holt himself, and he just punched Jimmy Brogan in the face.

For calling Holt a “homo.” Which made Holt yell and send Jake home.

Jake gets up, and kicks a file cabinet. Then he immediately sits down because that hurt like hell and he might have actually broken something, Jesus Christ.

He snorts. He can’t even kick file cabinets properly, today. Clearly, he’s been cursed. His breathing starts getting uneven and he whimpers, wondering if he’s just going to break down here in the evidence lock up when Amy walks in.

He can hear her stop, hear her hear him and holds his breath while she marches to his corner. She looks down at him and her face shifts, slightly. He notices the fists her hands were making unfurl as she sits down beside him. She moves her right leg so that it just barely touches his left, before she starts talking.

“What happened,” she says softly.

Jake laughs for a moment, then another, and now he can’t stop laughing because Amy and Holt and everyone was right and he was so so wrong and Jake can’t breathe again and--

“Jake, calm down. Jake, whatever it is, it’s fine, okay? Jake, just breathe...” Amy’s speaking, but he can’t really pay attention. She moves in front of him, puts her hands on his knees and keeps taking, says his name over and over again. Amy’s terrible at this comforting business, he realizes, not when she hasn't had time to think about what to do. Her voice is getting higher and higher, and he can hear the worry saturating her words. It’s that, more than anything else that gets Jake to calm down: his stupidity doesn’t need to send Amy into another panic attack, not when it's been so long since her last one.

He starts counting the seconds between his breaths, holding and exhaling before inhaling again. His heartbeat stops racing, and he forces himself to think of something else, like Amy’s perfume, or the pattern on her blouse.

He stretches out his legs and looks up at Amy, smiling a little at the panic still in her eyes. He watches her swallow, before she nods twice and leaves the room. Jake blinks, because that was absolutely not the reaction he was expecting but before he can start panicking again she runs back and tells him to wait, that she’s just getting something.

Five minutes later, she’s carrying two mugs of what he strongly suspects is chamomile tea when she sits down on the floor again, handing him the one in her right hand while she sips from the one in her left.

“It’s chamomile,” she confirms. He takes a sip, and taps the fingers of his left hand on the floor absentmindedly. Amy puts down her mug, covers his hand with her own and sighs.

“What happened, Jake?” He puts his own mug down to answer.

“I punched Jimmy Brogan.” There. Short, sweet and gets to the point. Amy gasps.

“What were you _thinking_?” She turns to face him directly, eyes wide. “He’s going to rip us apart! What the hell, Jake!”

He clenches his jaw, looks down and takes another sip of tea. Amy’s hand has moved off of his, so he starts tapping again.

“I just....he called....he said. I mean I made a mistake, and I was going to fix it....but then.” He sighs, starts over. “He called Holt a ‘homo.’”

Amy gasps again, and he can see her fists clench. “That piece of crap!" She pauses. "I hope it freaking hurt.”

Jake laughs for real this time. “He fell into the pool.”

Amy blinks, before she starts laughing too. “He fell into the _pool_?”

“Yeah, we were at like the spa or whatever and we were about to go swimming.” Jake snorts. “I was all like ‘ay Captain Holt’s pretty cool even if he’s a tightass and like please don’t include that stuff in your article’ and he was all like ‘you don’t have to defend that homo’”

Amy grins. “And then you punched him?”

Jake nods. “Right in the jaw. He fell into the pool.”

She laughs again, and looks Jake right in the eye. “Good for you.” He smiles faintly, leaning his head back against the cabinets.

“I just don’t....I mean I thought he was the coolest, you know?” Amy hums in assent. “What if I’m like him? I mean if I thought he was so amazing, what does that make me?”

He doesn’t look at her, instead starts picking at his fingernails. People like Amy and Holt, these are the good cops. They do their job and do it well. They care about people, but they care about the rules too. Jake’s pretty sure he’s okay: he isn’t dirty, he doesn’t target minorities or poor people and he doesn’t flash his badge to get to the front of the coffee line. But right now, he doesn’t trust himself.

“Jake. Look at me.” He looks at Amy, who's suddenly very, very serious. “Jake Peralta, you are a good cop, okay? You aren’t even close to those assholes Brogan wrote about, and you want to know why?”

She pauses, until he manages to nod his head. “Because you’re my partner. I wouldn’t stay partners if you were one of those 70s white guys, Peralta you know that. Give me some credit man, I’m better than that. You’re a good guy, Jake. Give yourself some credit too.”

Amy nudges him with her shoulder, and he releases all of the tension he’s felt multiply since he punched Brogan. He looks to the side, and notices his cup is still half full. He raises it, and starts drinking again.

He doesn’t know how to thank her, doesn’t think he can express the amount of emotion he’s currently feeling. Amy’s blushing, as if she already regrets the compliments she’s given him. He bumps her back and she smiles in response, picking up her abandoned cup as well.

She moves closer to him, and they finish their drinks in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This messes with my whole lowkey consecutive order so at some point I'll probably fix the chapters and put them in the proper order. I was just going through some of the old episodes and I was like !!!!! this must have really sucked for Jake!!!!
> 
> If you have any ideas for either a Jake or Amy breakdown leave them in the comments. If you want to freakout over how much you love these two also leave a comment. Or not, no pressure. Thanks for reading!


	6. cup, the sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Jake after Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag 1x10: Thanksgiving

After Thanksgiving dinner finishes, Amy and Jake are the last people to leave the precinct. Amy feels a little duty bound to stay until the end: after all this was supposed to be her food, her tables, her mess to clean up. Jake.... he just hates Thanksgiving.

After all the plates have been thrown away, all the crumbs wiped off with both a napkin and then a wet wipe, Amy walks out into the bullpen and gathers the rest of her things. Jake lingers behind her, playing with the collar of his shirt as she checks her email one last time before leaving.

She only remembers that they all took the subway when they’re in front of Jake’s car, but all he does is unlock the passenger side and gesture for her to sit. It’s silent when they get on the road, and Amy feels the absence of noise keenly. She moves to turn on the radio, dials it to a station that plays a mix of pop and alt rock, their agreed on compromise for most stake-outs.

Amy hums along until the car stops in front of her apartment. She doesn’t move to get out, but she undoes her seatbelt to turn a little. She looks at Jake sitting next to her in his suit and tie, and makes a decision.

“Hey,” she mumbles, “do you want to come up?”

Jake tilts his head a little, before smiling faintly. He gets out, and if Amy notices how well he fills out the suit he’s wearing, well there’s no one here to pass judgement.

She unlocks the door and moves to let him inside. He stands for a little, looking at the inside of her apartment again, and she tries to look at her walls from his point of view.

It’s strange, but for all that she’s encroached on his living place, he’s never actually been in hers.

He’s still cataloguing all of her knick-knacks, the penchant for doilies she inherited from her abuela, the explosion of pink she had finally indulged in after a childhood of blue and black hand-me-downs. She scuffs her feet a little on the hardwood, only looking up when he clears his throat.

“It’s nice, Amy.” He smiles, and a little bit of her nervous tension evaporates. “It’s...very you. I like it.” Then he laughs, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes her glare before he even finishes his sentence. “Always suspected you were an 80 year old grandma Santiago, it’s good to have it confirmed.”

She rolls her eyes, punches him lightly on the shoulder and walks into the dining room. Everything is just as they left it, every horrible dish untouched or spread thin around a plate.

“Oh no..” she mutters under her breath before catching herself. She’ll just have to clean it all up in the morning, or more likely in a couple hours when she can’t fall asleep because of the mess.

Jake walks to the mashed potatoes and swipes a finger, bringing it up to taste when he makes a face.

“What’s _in this_ Santiago?” He looks simultaneously horrified and gleeful, and she sighs before telling him about the baking soda/salt mishap. He laughs so hard he has to grab on to the table for support, sinking to his knees and clutching his stomach with the other hand.

Amy frowns, tapping her foot as she viciously hopes that he vomits on the carpet. Then she remembers who would have to clean up the mess, and decides that she just wants him to get a really bad stomach cramp.

When Jake’s gotten ahold of himself, he stands up and asks where she keeps her garbage bags. She goes to get one from the supply cabinet, and when she returns she sees that he’s taken all the plates to the sink, and is washing them. The bigger dishes still full of all the food she spent so much time making are piled up precariously near his left elbow, waiting to be thrown away.

She makes her way to the leftovers, but Jake puts out his hand and says that she should help him dry instead.

“It’s more fun this way!” She raises an eyebrow, and he nods this time in emphasis. “Gina and I used to do this all the time.”

So she dries and puts away the dishes he washes, and at some point he pulls out his phone and starts playing an old playlist they made together at a stake out that lasted until the next dawn. It’s full of their super secret songs, the ones that they each keep close to their vest because they clash with each of their established images. Old 70s Cuban music and 90s East Coast Rap, early Taylor Swift and 50s Jazz.

They’re dancing a little, shaking their hips with the beat as they put away the dishes. Jake holds the trash bag open as Amy tosses the food, and then they clean the platters together, scrubbing away hardened food and burned crusts.

When everything is dry, they look around, glance at each other and start on the counters. The music is good and Jake is a surprisingly good dancer, which she can only tell because he makes the extravagantly flamboyant gestures look too easy.

Amy’s pulled out all the stops: all of her cleaning liquids, all her sponges and rags. Jake’s stretching out her spare set of bright yellow gloves, and she’s tried to tie up her hair in a top knot, but half the strands have already fallen out. She mops, and Jake wipes down the counters and tables three times. They start singing their favorite lyrics at each other, holding their hands up as microphones as they shout to the beat.

Eventually, they settle down: basically, they run out of things to clean. Jake takes his phone back, switches to the classical song list she’d made on a bet: “Most likely to be listened to by a Fedora.” Jake ended up having to buy her morning Starbucks for a week, and now they listen to the playlist when they want to fill up silences without needing to speak.

They’ve migrated to her couch, when Amy realizes what’s missing. She jumps up, runs to her cupboard and gets out two mugs and the chamomile tea. She fills the cups and heats them, adding in the tea bags and pulling out the honey while it steeps. She can feel Jake’s eyes on her back, senses him near the doorway and smiles over her shoulder. She hands him a mug, and he thanks her, before they head back to couch.

He sinks into the cushions next to her, leaning slightly on to her shoulder as they drink. After a minute or two, he starts talking, voice pitched so low she can barely hear him over the hum of the violins.

“If you’re so bad at cooking, why’d you host Thanksgiving?” Amy sighs, because the answer is long and personally embarrassing. She’ll still tell him, though. She always does.

“I just...” Amy looks down and takes a sip. “I’ve never really had a lot of people to spend Thanksgiving with, you know? It was never a big deal with my family, and when I left I never had...”

“Friends,” he finishes for her. She nods. “Yeah, and even after Kylie it would have been weird with just one person so I always just went to her place. But she brought her boyfriend this year,, and you guys are my friends too, and with the Captain and all...” She exhales forcefully, and hopes he knows what she’s trying to say. Lord knows she doesn’t.

Jake nods again. “I get it.” He smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry I was such a butthead about it.”

She smiles, acknowledging his apology. “It’s okay. Do you have a specific reason you hate Thanksgiving, or is it just because no one was home?”

Now it’s Jake’s turn to look away, fiddling with the handle of his mug as he replies. “I don’t know if I really have a reason. Mom was just never home because she’d be picking up extra shifts for the money, and Darlene would always take Gina out on Thanksgiving so I’d just watch football until Mom came back at like 3 in the morning.”

He snorts. “I was lonely, I guess, and then I’d feel super guilty about it because Mom was working for me. I got a job as soon as I possibly could, and I’ve been working Thanksgivings ever since.”

Amy doesn’t know quite what to say, so she drinks some more of her tea, leaning back into his shoulder so that he knows she heard, and understands.

The music switches to a piano based melody, and they both tap out the rhythm on their mugs.

“Hey, did you ever give that speech to Captain Holt?” There’s a strange twist to Jake’s lips, a kind of fondness that belies the mockery. Amy shakes her head.

“Gina gave him the script, and he edited it for me.” She goes to get her bag, and pulls out the pages. “See here? He marked certain passages as awk, for--”

“Awkward, yeah I see that.” He takes the papers and looks through them, flipping back and forth. “I’m assuming this is like the best thing that’s ever happened to you because Holt’s like--”

“Mentoring me, right? I’m so excited!”

Jake twists a little so that he’s facing her and leans forward. “Tell me, Amy Santiago. Is this or is this not the best day of your life?”

Amy laughs, because no one else but Jake seems to understand just how fantastic this is, and why she’s so excited about it. Maybe he thinks she’s being a little silly, but he still gets where she’s coming from, and she can see the excitement in his own eyes for what this means to her.

She takes another sip and then bites her lip before offering. “I...never got to say it. Would you mind....?”

He nods eagerly. “Lay it on me Ames, let’s hear all 8 of those pages Santiago-stylez.”

She laughs, before taking the paper from Jake’s hands. She clears her throat and looks out over her living room, at the couch and the tea and the music, at Jake who’s sitting there waiting to hear an 8 page single spaced tribute to Captain Holt, and smiles.

“So: ‘ _When I was a little girl, playing cops and robbers...._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was nicer! No one cried! We can talk about problems without people crying! Yay!


	7. cup, the seventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, its like Amy can't do anything right. With Jake, she realizes she doesn't have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag for 1x16: The Party

When Amy walks into Jake’s apartment, the first thing she notices is the mess. Then, she realizes that Jake isn’t actually inside, before focusing on the mess again.

They’ve just been kicked out of the Captain’s house and Amy doesn't think she's felt worse in her entire life. Ok, so maybe she has, but she can't remember right now. She walks into the kitchen to pull out the tea mugs, hands shaking as her brain replays every single mistake she made tonight, every stupid remark or nervous mannerism magnified until she can hear whimpering noises in the room and she realizes they're coming from her.

Amy takes a deep breath, fills each cup with water and puts them in the microwave, breathing in and out while the water heats. She takes them out and puts the tea bags in, repeating the mantra Jake once taught her while she waits for exactly two minutes before she can take the bags out.

_No one cares, no one cares, no one cares, no one_ \-- except, that's a lie. She knows for a fact that Captain Holt did care, and she's gone and blown it. She drops the cup, and it tips over, spilling hot water all over her favorite dress.

Amy swears, but tries to keep it under control. She looks at the water flowing down her skirt, but there's still one more cup of tea and she always makes two. She can do this, she can make at least one perfect cup of chamomile tea and everything will be okay.

Right?

She concentrates on the second cup, wrapping the fingers of her left hand around the Nakatomi Plaza mug she bought Jake their second or third Christmas as partners. He’d groaned for two whole minutes, before producing a bag of her favorite Starbucks coffee blend from somewhere inside of his desk. She stirs the honey in while she traces the lettering, remembers how he brought it home and has insisted she make his tea in it ever since. She brings the lip of the mug up to her mouth to taste, because Jake likes a little more honey than she does: not enough for a second spoon, so she has to trial and error it.

Suddenly she sees a flash of Captain Holt’s face when he opened the bathroom door, and she starts spiralling again, hands shaking as she clutches the mug harder and harder. It’s a montage now: Kevin’s disdain, “those slacks are a knockout,” every picture she took of the inside of their cabinets--

“Amy?” She drops the mug, watches it shatter on the ground as she covers herself once more in tea. There’s honey on the insides of her fingers, her dress is ruined, and she’s gone and broken Jake’s favorite mug. Everything is sticky. She starts shaking harder when she looks up at Jake standing in the doorway, and the combination of horror and sympathy on his face is what finally does her in.

Amy starts crying, big heaving sobs from the very bottom of her chest. She starts sinking to her knees, when suddenly Jake yells out and walks over to grab her by the elbows. He moves them to the other corner of the kitchen, muttering about the mug shards as he sinks into the gap between the cabinets, pulling her down with him.

She feels like throwing up, she feels like the entire universe has become untethered, all she can see are the mistakes she made today and the disappointment on the faces of the Sarge and the Captain. Amy feels so small right now, but at the same time it feels like she’s larger than the room. She clings to Jake, because she can feel him rubbing her back and he’s solid: something more substantial than her thoughts.

“Why can’t I do anything _right_?” she yells into his shirt, and that’s the question she’s been asking herself for years. “I try _so_ hard, and I’m _always_ wrong!” She cries harder, punctuated by moments where she screams her frustration into the cloth. Jake tightens his grip, but doesn’t try to answer her questions, doesn’t counter her assertions in any way but the most obvious: clearly she must have done something right, because he’s still here.

There’s a strange noise in the background, a matching vibration she can feel underneath her the cheek she’s resting on his collarbone. Amy looks up, and she notices that Jake’s mouth is moving.

She blinks again, and realizes that he’s singing. It’s low, lazy almost, as if the words are an afterthought. She leans back into his chest, feels him squeeze the arms he’s got around her as he continues singing. He’s switching between Yiddish lullabies and hipster white boy songs, the type she keeps on her rainy day playlists and likes to listen to at coffee shops. Somehow, they both suit him, she thinks -- they sound like songs that you could whisper into someone’s shoulder while slow dancing in your living room, or lying together in a hammock at dusk.

She notices that her heart beat has slowed, and he’s rocking them both slightly. She rubs her cheek against his dress shirt in gratitude: she doesn’t think she can bring herself to speak yet, but she wants him to know that she appreciates what he’s doing for her.

Amy can hear the smile in his voice, and knows he understands. They stay like that for some time, moving in time with the lilts in his voice, until suddenly he lifts her off of him, placing her on the ground.

She startles, looking at him with a little more betrayal than she would like to admit, but he isn’t looking at her as he moves back to the mess of cold tea and mug pieces. He crouches, gathering the shards of his favorite mug and throws them away without a change in expression. He’s still singing while he cleans, starting another lullaby while he starts mopping up the tea with a bunch of paper towels. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, loosening his tie a little when he goes to look for the cleaning supplies she bought and stuck under his sink a few months ago.

“You should use the bleach,” she says quietly. It’s the first thing she’s said since they left Captain Holt’s home. “You don’t want the honey to attract ants.”

He nods, grabs the spray bottle full of a one part bleach-three parts water solution that Amy had made and labeled. He sprays the entire area and wipes it all, making sure to remove every sticky patch on the ground. He’s being far more thorough than he usually would if she wasn’t there, easily accommodating her obsessive tendencies, and she reminds herself to thank him eventually.

Then again, she knows she doesn’t have to. Jake’s the one person she’s never had to write a thank you note for, mostly because he doesn’t read his mail. She tries to thank him in person instead, by buying him cleaning supplies and reorganizing his kitchen. Amy Santiago can’t cook, but she can color code spices.

When Jake finishes, he tosses all the paper towels in the trash and gestures for her to stand up. She does, a little unsteady but then he’s there at her side, propping her up as they make their way to his bedroom. He starts stripping out of his clothes, and Amy goes to pick out some clothes that might fit her from his laundry basket. When they’re significantly more comfortable, Jake grabs a hanger and offers to hang her dress. She looks down at the red fabric crumpled on his floor and realizes that it’ll probably just be a reminder of her failure.

“Do you have a garbage?” she asks. He laughs, and takes her back to the kitchen. She crumples the dress into the can, and watches it amongst the piles of dirty paper towels and mug shards.

She loved that dress, but it looks like it belongs in the trash heap underneath Jake’s sink. She smiles a little and reaches up to where Jake keeps his glasses. The floor underneath her bare feet is no longer sticky, and she wiggles her toes a little to savor how nice and dry and clean it feels. Technically, Amy could still use her old mug because she didn’t actually break it, but she pauses before she moves to fill it with water.

Jake reaches over her, and pulls out two mugs. He passes her his regular NYPD mug, and takes a gag cup Rosa had bought him once, the pink one that says he’s the city’s #1 Princess. She fills them both, and they watch the microwave together, Jake’s hand around her waist.

“You don’t mess up everything,” he mutters. He smiles. “Only sometimes, and it’s ok. I messed up this time too. And clearly the Captain hates me more so he’ll probably remember my screw ups more than yours.”

He’s trying to keep it light, but she can hear the slight strain in his voice. In their own ways both Jake and Amy, she realizes, want nothing more than to be liked. His performance at the dinner must sting a little, no matter how much he pretends it doesn’t. She slips her own arm around him, leans her head on his shoulder as the microwave beeps.

She opens the door with her free hand and grabs the mugs. “How about we call it even?”

She can feel him laugh while she steeps the tea bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one feels more angsty than it really would have been in canon, but I'm a sucker for the singing trope so I left it super sad. Also, if officially given up on the linear path, so I'm just going to write a bunch of season 1 and update in the order that I'm writing them. I'll go back and put them in the proper order later, but I hope it doesn't get too confusing.


	8. cup, the eighth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After The Worst Date Ever, Jake teaches Amy how to bake zucchini bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag 1x13: The Bet

Jake drives Amy home after they finish the processing paperwork and nods when she asks if he wants to come up. She asks him to get her dress out of the backseat, and her front door is open by the time he crosses the street, arms full of blue fabric and bows.

He walks in, closes the door behind him, and remembers to turn the lock. He finds Amy standing stock still in front of her kitchen, staring at something he can’t really see. He moves behind her, poking her in the back to ask where he should put the dress.

“I’m thinking the fireplace.” She’s rolling her eyes at his affronted expression, but gets a hanger out of her coat closet and slips the straps on it before taking it to her bedroom. While she’s putting away the dress, Jake walks into the kitchen to see what she was looking at before, and stops.

Amy walks in and sighs. “I’d heard that baking was easier,” she says. “I wasn’t really feeling that today.”

Jake laughs, and walks further into the kitchen, inspecting the burned pans and overflowing mixes in bowls. “What were you trying to make, Santiago?”

“Zucchini bread,” she mutters. He sees the zucchini peels lumped together at the corner of the dining table and laughs again.

“I should just clean all of this up,” she says while stacking the bowls. “God, the burned bits are going to be so hard to get out of the pans. Would you add some water to them? I’ll keep them overnight and hopefully it’ll soften.”

She’s grabbing pans and bowls with more force than necessary, and when Jake looks at her lips they’re in a straight, flat line. Amy hates failing, and while her inability to handle the culinary arts is funny for everyone else, he can’t ignore how much it bothers her. He sighs, and makes a decision. Luckily for Amy, Jake’s secretly a Baking God, and she’s one of the three people he’d willingly reveal his secret skill for.

“Ames, put that down. All of it, ok?” He starts taking the bowls out of her hands, putting them back on the table while he thinks. “Did you use all of your groceries on this, or do you have anything left?”

Her eyes are wide, but she shakes her head no, she’s used it all up. Jake frowns a little, but he thinks he can work with it. He starts stacking the bowls again and takes it to the sink.

He turns the tap on, gets the gloves out from under the sink and hands them to her. “Here, you start cleaning all of this and I’ll go get the ingredients.”

Amy frowns. “For what?” she asks.

“For the zucchini bread, of course!” Jake starts rummaging through her pantry, looking for flour and spices, opening her fridge in search of eggs and milk. “I, Jake Peralta: Baking Legend am going to teach you, Amy Santiago: Baking Loser how to make zucchini bread. Now, clean up the pans while I go buy everything.”

Jake walks out, before opening the door again to shout out: “And make some tea if you can!”

There aren’t a lot of stores open at this hour, but in Jake’s experience stores that sell groceries super cheap also happen to be open super late. Jake’s an expert at finding cheap food, so it doesn’t take too long. Amy’s just about finished the dishes when he walks back into her apartment, and there’s two baking pans drying on a rack. She dries the last bowl and points at the two mugs near her microwave. He takes a sip out of his and sits on the counter, placing his bags next to him. When she finishes, she drinks her tea and looks at him, expression half fear and half anticipation.

“You can bake?” she asks. Jake nods. “My Nana loved to bake.” He looks away briefly and swallows the lump he develops in his throat when he thinks about his grandmother. “I used to help her a lot.”

He smiles and takes a drink. “I do it on bad days sometimes...it helps when everything gets loud, you know?” Of course she would, Amy’s one of the only people he knows that understands the noise. It’s why Jake’s going to teach her how to bake at 1 in the morning, instead of drinking at a bar or watching Die Hard again, or any of the other things he usually does with his life.

“Alright, so the first step is putting together all your dry stuff.” Jake finds a bowl large enough to hold the ingredients and grabs a few measuring cups on the way back. “Wait. You’re gonna want a recipe, right?” Amy nods.

“Mkay. So this is how my Nana did it and she never really wrote anything down, but we’ll kind of figure it out as we go and see what happens.” He pauses. “You wanna get some paper and a pen?”

By the time Amy returns with a notebook, Jake’s started the oven, cut off the top of the flour and opened all the spices. He starts pouring the flour into her measuring cup, when he notices that she’s back and stops.

“So I have like half a cup of flour here. I’m going to just keep measuring cups of flour until I think it looks right.” He looks at Amy, and there’s a faint hint of panic at the thought of trial and error he can see in the corners of her eyes. Jake walks over, puts his hands on her shoulders and stares. “Amy, I promise that I know what I’m doing, okay? If the zucchini bread doesn’t turn out right we’ll try with something we find online. I bought enough for at least two batches, so we should be totally fine.”

He waits for her to nod back before he drags her to the bowl, and starts measuring more flour. Two and a half cups later he stops, and tells Amy to write down 3 cups of flour in her notebook.

“Alright,” he says when she’s finished noting down the color, taste and texture of the flour along with its brand name. “Next: cinnamon! Nana always put 3 spoons, so that’s pretty easy.” He holds up the cinnamon for Amy to smell, offers her a little to taste and laughs at the face she makes.

“Come on Amy, you’ve gotta know what all this tastes like so that you don’t confuse it for something else.” He hands her some sugar.  “Here, so that was cinnamon,  taste some sugar now.”

She looks at him strangely. “Jake, I know what sugar tastes like!” He laughs. “Just like you knew the salt from the baking soda?” She blushes, and tastes the sugar, and then the vanilla extract he hands her. They continue like this, with Jake eyeballing certain ingredients and holding them up for Amy to smell and taste before she notes down the amount in her notebook.

When Jake was younger, he and his Nana would bake together on weekends. She’d give him money to buy the ingredients, and he was always allowed to pocket any extra coins. Jake remembers afternoons spent looking over his grandmother’s shoulder as she shook flour out of the canister and sprinkled spices until the batter was the right color and consistency.

Baking is something Jake saves for when he’s super stressed: there’s something about the mindlessness of it all, the comfort of flour and sugar, eggs and milk and spices all coming together inside of his oven that he enjoys. He hasn’t baked with someone since his Nana died, but it's not so bad with Amy. She doesn’t talk much, outside of triple checking his measures and he notices her making notes about the taste and smell of everything in the margins.

They grate the zucchini together, because that’s one thing not even Amy could mess up. After everything is mixed together, Jake pulls out the pans and wipes them down with a paper towel to get the last bits of water out of the corners. He pulls the PAM out of his grocery bag, and sprays the pans, laughing at Amy’s look of befuddlement.

“It makes the food not stick to the pan,” he says. Amy huffs. “That would have been helpful to know,” she says. Amy sprays the next pan, and starts pouring the mix inside. They put the pans in the oven, and Jake sets a timer for 40 minutes on his phone. Amy takes their mugs, rinses them and makes two more cups of tea.

They move to her couch, and sit. Jake shifts a little, before he starts speaking.

“Why did you want to bake today?” Amy blushes, and suddenly Jake’s really interested in her answer. He leans forward.

Amy opens her mouth a few times, starting and stopping before she answers. “When my brothers would go on first dates, they’d bake something with my Mama to take with them. They’d go to their date’s house, meet the parents and give them whatever they’d baked instead of like flowers or whatever.” She laughs. “It actually worked really well, and it turned into a family ritual for all of us. I’d hang around the kitchen when Mama and one of my brothers was baking, and it was just....nice, you know?”

Jake tries to imagine a tiny Amy sitting in the Santiago family kitchen while Mama Santiago baked with maybe Luis, or Marco. He smiles.

“I never had much of an opportunity in high school for first date baking because I didn’t really...date,” she continues. “And after I left, it just never occurred to me, but I remembered it today.”

Jake blinks, and grins. “But Santiago, it wasn’t a real date.” She blushes harder and looks away. “I know, Peralta. But I just remembered, and I wanted to try.” She glares. “It wasn’t about _you_.”

Jake laughs, and decides to drop the subject. “Did your mom do a lot of baking when you were little?” he asks. Amy nods.

“She was so good at all of it, like if there’s something in the universe that needed to be done, Mama could do it.” She sighs. “I feel guilty sometimes, that I didn’t turn out more like her. She’s my favorite person in the whole world, and I can’t even do half of the things she did everyday.”

Jake drinks some of his tea, and moves a little towards Amy. He bumps her shoulder and waits until she looks up at him. “I think you’re pretty great, Amy.” He laughs. “You are, after all the second best detective in this precinct.” He looks away. “And, you’re like...nice and smart and stuff.”

The corners of her mouth turn up. Jake takes a breath.

“You don’t have to be like your Mom to be cool Ames.” He moves his hand a little over hers. “You just have to be you.” Amy looks a little touched, which makes Jake feel awkward: vocalizing all this emotion isn’t how usually how he rolls. Jake bites his lip and starts rambling

“Obviously, this is like on the Santiago scale of cool. You’re never going to be as cool as me, or even like Charles, but you’re pretty cool for you, and like...” Amy’s laughter cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“Totally. Who could possibly be cooler than Charles, who sends a weekly newsletter categorizing the best pizza places in the area by mouthfeel?” He grins and plays along.

“According to Captain Holt, mouthfeel is very important Santiago,” he says. “And who are we to against our beloved mentor?” Amy shakes her head.

There’s a few minutes still left when Jake checks the timer on his phone, and each of them have about half a cup of tea in their cups. Jake takes a drink, and watches as Amy does the same.

Jake likes to bake: it reminds him of his Nana, and it usually tastes pretty good too. It’s easy, and it helps him focus on days when everything feels out of control.

He thinks about sitting on the roof with Amy, about how Charles thinks that Jake likes her. Like-likes her, not just as a friend and partner and fellow tea drinker. Jake thinks about the wrinkle her nose made when she walked out of her apartment in that blue dress, and how easy it was to pretend they were engaged.

“Hey Amy? If you want, I can teach you how to bake.” He smiles at her look of surprise. “It’s not that hard, and I kinda like it.” Amy watches him for a moment, two, three before she grins and nods. She puts out her hand, and Jake laughs. They stand up and shake on it, and her grip is still as tight as it was all those months ago in the break room.

The timer goes off, and they release each other’s hands to go check on their zucchini bread. Amy looks over her shoulder and smiles.

“Gotta see if this is any good, first,” she says. “If I’m going to learn how to bake, I’d better be learning from the best.”

Jake gasps. “As if I could be anything _but_ the best. Are you forgetting who took who on a date tonight?”

Amy takes out the pans and puts them on the counter to cool.

“It was nothing more than luck, Peralta. You were lucky” Jake looks at her profile, and softens.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I was.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone said jake would stress bake and i agree, and i think he would teach amy how to bake too. im not sure if this all ties in, or if its just an excuse for peraltiago baking but whatever. i think i have like one or two more and then ill be done with season 1! if you have criticism feedback or headcannons leave them in the comments below, i love talking about these two dweebs more than anything else. Thanks!


	9. cup, the ninth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Vulture poaches their case, Amy and Jake find themselves shouting Nas lyrics in Jake's living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag: 1x05: The Vulture. (the one where Jake literally mails a plaster copy of his ass to the Vulture)

After Captain Holt and the Sarge have left, the squad walks to the subway together, each peeling off when they get to their stop. Halfway through, Jake notices that Amy has missed her stop, but when he tries to tell her she just stares blankly until he looks away.

The subway stops, and Jake cocks an eyebrow. Amy stands up, hitches her purse on her shoulder and walks out the doors. Jake stares for a few moments, before he hurries behind her.

They walk in silence: both of them are completely sober now and all Jake can focus on is the clack of her heels on the pavement as he tries to tamp down on his frustration and confusion and just an overwhelming sense of wrongness that he can’t manage to shake. It feels like everything is just slightly off kilter, like it’s all been transposed by one key and he can’t manage to figure out the new normal.

She pulls out her key and unlocks his door, wandering into his kitchen while he goes to open his closet. They have a routine now, a series of steps to follow on bad days. One of them will usually text the other, or they’ll wait at their desks until the other one is done for the day. Amy will find herself unlocking the door to Jake’s apartment and she’ll make them each a cup of chamomile tea. Jake will spread every blanket Gina’s ever gifted him on the couch.

It’s a good system, Jake thinks vaguely as he spreads the blankets. His left hand is shaking as he wraps the Channing Tatum patterned quilt around his shoulders. Amy walks in with the two mugs and sets them down on the coffee table. She takes a seat at her end of the sofa and looks at him, calmly, blankly. Jake doesn’t know what to do with that look, so he ignores it.

He _hates_ the Vulture. Pembroke is the actual Worst, a combination of everything Jake hates in people. He reeks of privilege and douchebaggery, and it just makes Jake furious and competitive and petty. Well, Jake is competitive and petty on normal days too, but just....the Vulture is the Worst, okay?

If Jake had an arch-nemesis, it’d probably be the Vulture, except for how Pembroke usually wins

Amy’s still staring at Jake, and he’s starting to feel awkward. He takes a sip of tea, slurps it through his teeth just to distract her. She doesn’t move, which worries him a little. Maybe she’s still angry at him: Amy hates the Vulture just as much as Jake does.

“Are you still angry?” Jake asks. He doesn’t know what she could say that he isn’t already thinking, but he might as well get it over with.

Amy takes a sip and shakes her head. “You screwed up, but I think you learned your lesson.” She pauses. “Do you think I should be angry?”

Jake’s eyes widen as he shakes his head. He doesn’t know why, but suddenly it's easier to breathe again, as if someone’s taken a bunch of bricks off of his chest. He smiles faintly, and drinks to keep his mouth occupied before he does something stupid like thank Amy for forgiving him.

She takes a sip and then puts her mug on the table, shifting so that her body is angled towards his. She takes her shoes off, kicks them to the side and stretches her legs across the couch until her feet just barely touch his thighs.

She frowns, and pulls the Ryan Gosling blanket over her body. “I freaking hate the Vulture,” she spits. Jake nods.

He kind of wants to punch something, but he saves his violent tendencies for Rosa. He drinks some more tea, instead.

“Talk to me, Jake.” Amy’s staring again, and there’s something about all of this that makes Jake want to tell her everything, just talk and talk until he’s scraped the last bits of his insides and deposited them inside her hands.

Instead, he stalls for a bit. Amy’s eyes never waver from his face, so he sighs, wraps the blanket around his shoulders a little tighter and mumbles into his lap. He doesn’t know what to say.

“He’s the Worst,” he tries. It’s all he can think to describe how angry and frustrated he is with Pembroke, but mostly with himself. “I should have talked to you guys sooner. This is all my fault.”

“Yeah,” she says. “It is.” Jake clenches his jaw. “But, you caught the guy too, you know? And you took responsibility for your crappy decisions and all.” Amy smiles. “I’m impressed, Peralta. You did good today.” The smile slides into something a little more mocking. “For you, of course.”

Jake blinks, and suddenly he can’t breathe again, but it’s not a weight as much as an absence. He can’t feel the air in his lungs anymore, but he can feel the brilliance of that small smile Amy’s giving him, and grins in response.

Amy’s his friend, one of his best friends in fact. He forgets sometimes about the subtle differences between Santiago&Peralta at the station, and Jake&Amy at home. He’s still pissed, but it feels different.

“I wouldn’t say that, Santiago,” he says without thinking. “I’m pretty sure that I’m ahead on arrests.”

“By like one,” she retorts. “I’m still going to win.”

Jake smiles, but after a bit the Vulture’s stupid smug face pops back into his mind and he balls his fist again. Amy waits for a couple minute before she sighs, and walks over to her purse, pulling out her phone and plugging it into his stereo. She scrolls for a while, tapping a whole bunch of times in search of something she must have hid very carefully.

He’s intrigued. She looks at him again, bites her lip and presses with a sense of finality.

He listens for three seconds, before his jaw drops.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Amy looks embarrassed, but he can see a strain of pride somewhere in the backs of her eyes. She tightens her jaw, and nods. After a couple beats, she starts rapping, and now Amy Santiago is standing in the middle of his living room rapping to Nas as if this isn’t the single greatest revelation in Jake’s entire life.

He can’t breathe _again_. Amy’s wearing a shit-eating grin as she unties her hair, letting it swish around her shoulders. She beckons him up with one hand, and who is Jake to refuse?

They last for hours, rapping along to what feels like every single hit that came out of the East Coast Rap scene in the 90s. It’s loud and hard and fast, and eventually the two of them are just shouting at each other, bouncing to the beat as they try to get all the words out without stumbling.

After hour one, they make it a bet, judging each other’s performance on accuracy and swagger. After hour three, they come to a joint consensus that neither of them particularly possess swagger, and that actually they’re both pretty accurate when it comes to the songs they like. They go back to shouting.

By the time Amy’s playlist ends, Jake realizes that he doesn’t feel nearly as angry as before: though his throat does feel a little scratchy. He looks for his mug, and grimaces at the cold tea at the bottom. Amy snatches his mug out of his hands and walks into the kitchen to make one more cup before she leaves.

Sometimes he likes to watch her while she makes tea: there’s something soothing about knowing exactly what she’s going to do next, because obviously Amy Santiago has the art of making chamomile tea down to the second. She stands next to him while the tea bags steep, and he likes the way that neither of them feel the need to speak in that one moment. It’s such a difference from the way they both are at work.

She stirs in the honey and hands him the mug, patting him on the shoulder before she heads out.

He follows her to the door, taking a sip as she puts on her shoes. She pauses after she’s finished, and smiles at the floor for a moment. Amy looks up and smiles: it’s not sincere like before, but cocky. It takes him a moment before he realizes why it’s so familiar. It’s a Jake Peralta smile, the type of wide, knowing grin Amy’s always told him she hates. He laughs in disbelief

“We’ll get the bastard next time Peralta,” she says as she walks out. “And that’s a Santiago guarantee.”

Jake wolf-whistles at that, and if Amy starts to blush as she starts her car, neither of them will ever mention it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are officially only two parts left for season 1! One is an actual ep. tag, the other is Amy between s1 and s2. (She doesn't do very well, but she's trying really hard). ALSO i went back and fixed the LAST vulture one, the major crimes one bc it like had a bunch of exposition at the beginning that made sense when this was way smaller and more like the jake&rosa one. I'm probably going to use parts of that exposition in the Amy in between one, just as a reflection of the state of their relationship at that point in time. It's literally like 3 sentences added, 3 paragraphs removed on that one so not a big deal. I think i got rid of the makeup part, but i think i'll elaborate on that one in season2 (jake teaches amy how to do make up for a date with teddy???????). The Rap bit was added to this one and expanded. I hope you like it! Thanks for reading :)


	10. cup, the tenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake moves, Amy helps him unpack (and its more than just the dishes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag 1x18: The Apartment

Everything is in boxes when Amy walks into Jake’s new apartment. Or, Gina’s old apartment, which she’s renting out to Jake because his dire financial situation has finally caught up to him.

She finds Jake standing in the middle, and walks up to him. She makes sure to make a good amount of noise as she approaches: not too much to disturb him, but enough not to startle him either.

“Hey,” she says softly. “You ok?”

Jake turns around, and she winces a little at the look in his eyes. It’s something between regret and confusion, a mix of wistfulness and grief that makes Amy want to run far away and watch a Lifetime movie with a glass of wine.

 _Why do you care about what Holt thinks_ , she remembers him saying a few days ago, and Amy knows she has to stay.

“Where’s your microwave?” she asks, and walks over to open the box he points at. She grins at the words he’s scrawled near the seam, traces the block letters that labels everything inside as “Amy’s Tea Stuff.” She takes the her copy of his, or well Gina’s now, key and cuts the tape. She pulls out their mugs, the honey she’s been buying for the last eight years, the chamomile tea bags they’ve only found at that one specialty shop.

Jake lifts the microwave out of the box, and looks for an outlet. When he plugs it in, she goes to fill up the mugs with water. She looks around his kitchen, notes how much more cramped everything will be from now on.

She walks back, sticks the mugs into the microwave and sets it for two minutes. Jake sets the honey upright, and pulls out the stirring spoon before he gets up and opens another box to fetch some blankets.

He spreads them on the ground and sits, and after a moment Amy takes the mugs out of the microwave and joins him, crossing her legs and steeping the tea bags. She puts her hand on his knee and squeezes.

“Jake,” she says. “How are you?”

He looks at his new walls, and says nothing. Amy leans her head on his shoulder, and starts tapping a mindless rhythm on his knee. They drink, and the silence flits between comforting and awkward but Amy manages to power through until she finishes her cup.

She gets up, walks over to the box closest to her and opens it. Plates. She pulls them out, and takes them to the kitchen where she figures out the best cupboard for them. Jake follows her and sits on the floor again, nursing his cup of tea while she organizes plates and cups and bowls. Amy finds a Sharpie and some masking tape and creates little labels for every shelf, and stacks everything first by size and then color and material.

Amy’s organizing his spices when she realizes how much better she feels, how nice it is to be able to fix everything just so. She knows that Jake won’t maintain any of this when she leaves, but there’s a certain pleasure in making everything look pretty and right.

She finishes the kitchen, plucks Jake’s cup out of his hand and fills it up with water. She sticks it back in the microwave and starts on the living room as it heats up. The sofa’s already inside, thank god, but the walls are bare so she puts up all his posters, and transfers his movie and tv show collection back into the cabinet next to his television. She finishes making his cup of tea and then thinks about how she’s going to organize all these disks. Amy decides to order them by genre, because that’s how Jake prefers it, but then alphabetizes everything inside of each subsection because that’s how _she_ prefers it.

Jake doesn’t make a sound the whole time she works, just watches and drinks the tea she makes. Amy thinks about asking him to help, but to be honest she enjoys this far too much to let Jake mess up her meticulous arrangements. She finds the boxes for his bedroom, and walks down the hall, turning on the lights to accommodate for the darkness. She hadn’t realized the sun had set.

Amy makes his bed with his Lord of the Rings bed sheets, the ones she knows Gina bought for him two Christmases ago, quirking a smile as she smoothes down the wrinkles that are folding up parts of Eowyn’s armor.

Jake moves from the floor to flop on the bed, placing the tea on his bedside table. She sits on the foot of the bed and pats his foot vaguely, because she feels the need to remind him of her support without having to actually say it out loud.

Jake sighs, and it feels like a full body sigh, the type of exhalation that wants to be an exorcism. She notices his breath stutter a few times, and she wonders if he’s going to cry.

“I miss my Nana,” he says quietly. There’s an edge to his voice that she decides to ignore. “I know, Pineapples,” she says. She pats his foot again.

He laughs, but his voice breaks a little near the end. He brings his hand up to cover his face, and Amy moves up to sit near his head. She scoots until her hip is in line with his hairline, and her back is straight against the headboard, bites her lip and strokes his hair.

She doesn’t know quite what to say: this type of grief hasn’t touched Amy yet. Her paternal grandparents died when she was young, and her abuela is still, against all odds, alive. And by all accounts, Jake’s Nana wasn’t just his grandmother, as much as she was a third of the team of women who raised him.

Jake and Gina loved Ethel Rosenberg, and her passing a few months ago hit them both hard. She’d been at the hospital when Ethel had passed, speaking quietly with Jake’s mom as they both watched Jake and Gina slump together on the floor, heads on each other’s shoulders as they tried to stifle their tears.

Ethel was a good woman, just as her daughter and grandson continue to be good people themselves. She invited Jake and Amy for dinner every three months or so after they became partners, and when she died she left Amy a stack of Jake’s most embarrassing baby photos in her will: _to be used whenever you think is appropriate, Amy dear. Be sure to show them to his wife, though, won’t you?_

Amy runs her fingers through Jake’s hair again and sighs. She knows that Jake never really mourned, not properly. He repressed a lot, and one of her larger regrets is that she was never able to reach him during the month after Ethel died. She knows he cried once, and that it had been with Rosa during one of their Thursday nights. Other than that Jake had coped largely by working until he fell asleep at his desk, woke up the next morning and repeated the whole miserable cycle every day until the day he didn’t, and insisted that he was completely fine.

Amy didn’t believe him, but she could never bring herself to push, not when he always looked one conversation away from full blown hysteria.

Now, she doesn’t know what to do other than stay, make sure Jake knows that she’s here. She presses a kiss to his forehead and brings the comforter up around his shoulders as she goes back into the living room. She goes back to the box full of bathroom supplies, and organizes his shaving kit by height. She leaves the soap and shampoo in opposite corners of the bathtub, makes sure to stick a roll of toilet paper on the dispenser.

Jake’s in the living room when she returns, calling in an order of Orange Chicken, Noodles, Fried Rice and Egg Rolls from a Chinese place close by. When they ask for an address, he has to pause before giving them the number and street name of his new place, wincing when they immediately exclaim that he isn’t “Miss Gina.” Jake explains that Miss Gina has moved a few minutes down, that he grew up with her and will probably be ordering just as much if not more than she did. He promises to visit soon, and hangs up.

Amy smiles, and hands him a bunch of towels to put in his closet, stacking the clothes boxes and lifting them to his bedroom. They stand together, with Jake folding while she organizes his drawers. She’s dividing the top drawer into sections for underwear and socks and undershirts when she realizes that this isn’t really something friends do, but Jake hands her three pairs of socks and Amy stops thinking about it.

They eat on the floor, splitting everything in half as they share the one bottle of beer Gina had left in her fridge for Jake. Amy makes them each one more cup of tea, and they drink that on Jake’s couch, wrapped up in his comforter as they look around at his new living space.

“It’s not bad,” she says. He laughs a little. “And it’s all because of you, Ames. Maybe you should get into interior decorating: it might be your true calling,” he says with a nudge. She punches him lightly and rests her head on his shoulder.

“I miss your Nana,” she whispers. She feels him stiffen for a moment, before every bone in his body goes limp. He puts his feet up on the coffee table, and she moves her head to sit on his collarbone. He wraps his arm around her, and when he speaks she can feel it, more than hear.

“She was pretty great, wasn’t she?” he says. Amy nods. “She was the best,” she agrees.

Amy pauses, thinking about how to phrase what she’s about to say before just deciding to say it. She trusts Jake to know what she means. “You can miss her, you know.”

She feels Jake take a breath, feels him rise and fall underneath her. He brings his hand up to her hair, starts playing with some of the strands absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” he mutters. Another breath.

“I miss her,” he repeats, “I really, really do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have many feelings about the women who raised jake, and this one was too perfect of an opportunity to not talk about nana peralta so i took my opening. i figured out midway that i actually will expand at some point because it was too precious not to so that will happen at some point eventually. 
> 
> ALSO: this is the end of s1!!!!!! tomorrow i'll post amy's perspective btw s1 and s2, and then the day after we'll OFFICIALLY be in season 2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! yay! (im probably the only one this excited but i think there's like 50 pages on my google drive rn and im so happy i can start a new doc.) 
> 
> if you like what you've been reading and want to talk about it, leave a comment below! THANKS!


	11. cup, the eleventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake is gone. Alternatively, Amy Santiago finds all the places she has tied herself to Jake Peralta, largely by feeling out all of the places that feel broken in his absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after season one, before season two.

During the six months that Jake is gone, Amy falls apart. But only a little bit, she swears.

Amy Santiago is, after all, an independent woman who can fully exist as her own entity. She just hadn’t realized how _hard_ it would be.

After Jake’s confession, Amy actively tries not to think about him for a week, until Captain Holt attempts to assign her a temporary partner, a brand new detective Holt believes would benefit from her mentorship.

On any other day, Amy would have keeled over on the spot, combusting from the sheer joy at being told that she, Amy Santiago was mentor material, that her idol believed her capable of steering someone else on the right path to professional success.

On this day, however, Amy Santiago walks calmly into the Captain’s office and has an anxiety attack. It’s a terrible moment, full of the panicky feeling that she’s been shoving down deep into her gut everyday in order to reassure Teddy that nothing is wrong, she’s totally fine. Amy feels a little guilty that Teddy isn’t able to make her relax like Jake could, but she reasons that Teddy just doesn’t understand her mental issues like Jake because he doesn’t share them.

She refuses to think about the dreams she’s been hiding, the one’s full of warmth and laughter and the way Jake’s arm felt on her hip that one time they shared a bed after she almost accepted that job at Major Crimes. Amy values Jake as a friend, and nothing more: he’s certainly one of her best friends, and so this hollow feeling she’s walking around with absolutely makes sense.

Amy’s thinking about all of this when she panics inside of Holt’s office. She sinks to her knees, clawing at her throat as she rocks a little on his floor. There’s a part of her that’s absolutely mortified, especially when she notices Holt moving to shut all of the blinds. _Everyone knows that Santiago’s freaking out in the Captain’s office_ , she thinks bitterly as she tries to tamp down on the memories of every other time she’s broken down in a public place.

She hasn’t had an attack this bad in years, not since Jake, her mind supplies traitorously. Holt gets on his knees in front of her, places his hands on her shoulders and orders her to breathe. Amy tries to comply, she tries so hard, but she can’t. Holt starts sounding slightly more frantic, which amuses Amy a little: the unflappable Raymond Holt brought to his knees (literally) over Amy’s anxiety. She makes a note to tell Jake, because she knows that he’ll be upset that he missed this crack in Holt’s chill.

Actually, Jake would probably be more upset at the fact that she was freaking out on Holt’s floor. She tries to concentrate on what Holt’s saying, and she realizes that he’s trying to get her to control her breathing. This, she knows she can do: it’s Jake’s favorite way to get her to calm down. Amy can sense the presence of the entire squad on the other side of the door, but she forces herself to concentrate on the numbers Holt is muttering, breathing in and holding the air inside her lungs before she exhales.

Slowly, so so slowly, she starts breathing properly. When it becomes easier to think in straight lines, Amy’s first thought is a bunch of expletives she picked up during her brother’s high school years. She can’t bring herself to look at Captain Holt, her entire face is red and burning in shame.

 _I’m going to lose my job_ , she thinks. Suddenly, she hears Holt bark her name, and looks up. She blinks. If she’s reading his face right (and she might not be) Holt looks...sympathetic? Certainly not disappointed like she had expected. Sure the anxiety and OCD are a part of her file, but this is the first time it’s really affected her work, beyond what Jake had to deal with in the evidence locker and on his couch.

Jake. God, she hadn’t realized how much he factored into her professional life, much less her personal one until he’d left. She exhales, and stares directly into Holt’s eyes in the closest form of standing at attention that she can manage.

“Detective Santiago,” he says. “Can you tell me what the root cause of your anxiety attack was?” His eyes are gentle, even if he’s reverted back to his standard monotone. Amy bites her lip.

“I just...” she sighs. “Jake.” Holt nods.

“Yes, that much I had surmised,” he says. “What particularly about Peralta put you in this amount of distress?”

“I don’t really...” she peters off. “I don’t want another partner. Sir. Please, sir, I just, I _can’t_ have another--” Holt holds up a hand to stop her.

“Alright,” he says. Amy blinks. “Alright?” she repeats. He nods, gets up and extends a hand. Amy rises to her feet, brushes at her cheeks and thanks him. He smiles faintly, and asks if she wants to take some time off. She shakes her head, because the last thing she needs is more time to think, more time alone. Holt nods again in understanding, and turns back to some paperwork on his desk.

“At least go home today, Santiago,” he says as she opens the door. Amy closes her eyes, imagines the faces of everyone outside in the bullpen right now and agrees. She walks straight to her desk, puts on her jacket and walks out without acknowledging anyone in the room. She gets into her car, starts the ignition and drives without trying to figure out a destination.

She comes to a stop in front of Jake’s apartment and bangs her steering wheel. Hard. Then, she succumbs to the inevitable and crosses the street, unlocks his door and moves to sit in her spot on his couch.

It’s cold, which is strange because Jake always keeps his apartment warm, spending way more on his heating bill than his bank account can manage. Amy doesn’t want to contribute to the alarming numbers on the bills he avoids, so she walks to his bedroom and finds something to put over her blouse. She’s about to slip his sweatshirt on when she looks down at the fabric of the shirt she’s wearing, realizes that it would probably be uncomfortable underneath anything else and takes it off.

There’s no one else here anyway, she reasons. She goes to double check the lock, just to be safe.

She finds the clothes she borrowed that last time she slept over (the only time she’s slept over) and changes into them along with a couple extra layers, leaving her work clothes in a neat pile at the foot of his bed. Amy thinks about taking a nap, but reminds herself that sleeping in her coworker’s bed when he’s on an assignment is just weird and creepy and probably opens her up to like a sexual harassment lawsuit.

(He wishes he could have been with her romantic-stylez, she remembers. She has a boyfriend, she mutters to herself.)

She makes her way to the couch instead, taking a detour to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She stares blankly at the mugs for a few minutes, pressing her lips together at the #1 Princess mug Jake uses now and blinks away the wetness at the back of her eyes. She makes herself a cup, heating the water and steeping the tea bags with a certain restlessness. There’s something off about her process today, like she’s missed a beat somewhere and can’t figure out how to catch up with the rest of the band.

She stirs in the honey, and settles on the couch wearing like five layers of Jake’s clothing.

Amy takes a breath, holds it for a few seconds and then exhales. Again. Again.

There’s a comforter piled on top of his massage chair, and Amy picks it up after a little bit of hesitation. She puts the cup on the table and lies down, stretches herself across his couch and wraps the comforter around her. She raises the hood from one of his jackets over her head and closes her eyes, trying to sort through everything clogging her brain.

Yes, Jake confessed. It freaked her out a little, until she remembered that he specifically said he didn’t want to come between her and Teddy, that he wasn’t expecting anything in return. She trusts him on this, more than she would trust any other man. When Jake returns, he won’t try to insert himself into her love life unless she specifically asks him too, which she won’t so it’ll be fine.

She’d like to be pissed at him for giving the speech at all, but she’s been to enough police funerals to not begrudge him this. She’s heard enough whispers about what might have beens, and tortured sobs of “I should have said”, and there’s a part of her that’s glad he told her, that she knows.

In retrospect, a lot of his actions from the last month or so make a ton of sense. She feels a little guilty that she hadn’t realized earlier, that she hadn’t been able to help him with this. Amy pulls the comforter a little tighter around her and stares at her mug sitting on his coffee table untouched.

But it’s not just that he likes her: yes Amy was shocked, but whatever. It’s that he’s gone.

Everyday, Amy walks into the precinct and sits across from an empty desk. The emptiness bothers her more than she’d like, but she powers through the itchy feeling that’s taken over her skin. Amy walks into the Captain’s office to deliver a report, and drops lines that Jake can’t pick up. The hole in the space she usually leaves for his body beside her bothers her more than she’d like, but Amy shifts a little closer to the middle and uses short sentences, looks at the Captain’s desk instead of his eyes and swallows at the shards of glass now permanently embedded in her throat.

Everything bothers Amy more than she’d like, but she tries to hide it in her work and her boyfriend. She avoids the Nine-Nine’s trips to Shaw’s more often than not, because the last thing she needs to be reminded of is Jake, doesn’t need more proof of how his absence affects the family she works with.

But then, it’s not even just that he’s gone, but more the fact that she hadn’t expected it to hurt so bad. There isn’t a gaping hole in her life as much as a bunch of scattered segments that are used to being part of something more than themselves. Amy hadn’t known that Jake had crept into so many parts of her life, how he fulfilled so many small roles for her that she only now understands because he isn’t there to grab her shoulder or cover for her anxiety attacks. If it was just a hole, she could fill it. But this, this feels like someone cut out little patches of her and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to find them all to stitch herself back together.

Instead, Amy works. Amy goes to dinner with Teddy and doesn’t think about her partner who’s joined the Mafia. Amy also doesn’t sleep and inhales double orders of her usual coffee. Sometimes she’ll buy a caramel frappe for Jake and carry it all the way to her desk before she realizes he isn’t there to drink it. Gina doesn’t say much when Amy gives her the cups, just stares at the liquid and slurps until every last drop is gone.

Amy Santiago is exhausted, and it’s only been a week. The comforter smells like the detergent she bought for Jake a few years ago, which he’s apparently continued to purchase. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend that he’s just out on a case, that it’s late at night and Amy’s just crashing on his couch like all the other times she was too tired to make her way home.

What Amy really wants is a cup of chamomile tea, but she can’t bring herself to take a sip. It feels wrong without Jake sitting next to her, without his body heat and laughter, his sympathy and that one particular smile he gives her when she knows he’s being genuine. Amy wants to tell him about the perps she’s chasing and the family email chain that’s being conducted completely in rap lyrics.

Six months is a long time to go without your best friend, she realizes, but there’s nothing she can do.

So she rolls over to face the cushions, pulls the comforter over her head, and falls asleep.

 _Maybe_ , she thinks, _Jake will be back in the morning._

(She’s only a little sad when he isn’t.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little early bc yay thanksgiving break!
> 
> I'm really nervous about this one, because I feel like we all have our opinions on how Amy handles herself while Jake's gone. I think that, while she might have felt awkward about Jake's confession when he came back, it was never a big deal in general for her other than the aforementioned awkwardness of like not being really interested but not wanting to hurt his feelings. Basically I don't think Amy realized how much Jake had wormed into her life, and so all of this is just really hitting her hard because its like a sudden vacuum, you know? All the air in the room is sucked out and people collapse in its wake, which is a little dramatic but kind of applicable in this first week for her. I think she slowly gets a little better over time, as all things do, and kind of gets a new appreciation for Jake's place in her life. 
> 
> Idk what I'm even saying anymore, but if you liked/disliked please leave a comment below, I'm really interested in your perspective on this! Thank you so so sooooooo MUCH for reading I'm blown away by every single person who has left a comment saying they enjoyed this I just appreciate everyone who keeps reading this so much I cannot even. 
> 
> Tomorrow: Jake comes back!!


	12. cup, the twelfth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake's back and everything is awkward. A conversation with Holt, a cup of tea and a nap go a long way towards fixing that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey tag to 2x01: Undercover. It takes place sometime afterwords, but like before the second episode (if this doesnt work out let me know and ill fix my fic so it fits within the timeline)

It’s been like a month since Jake first came back from his stint with the mafia, and he’s doing better, he really is. He’s going to departmentally mandated therapy, he’s keeping track of his panic attacks, going out with Gina and Charles and Rosa separately and together. He even grabs dinner with Holt at one point, but apparently that doesn’t go in the “win” column of his notebook because he hadn’t “consumed a healthy meal in the last 48 hours” or “slept for more than twenty minutes in the last two days.”

So maybe he wasn’t doing great earlier, but it’s been a couple weeks and he’s doing _fine_ , Charles, he swears.

Jake’s been getting back into the swing of things at the precinct, slowly building up his caseload as he remembers how to piece together clues and gut feelings together to form something stronger than steel, the type of case that would stand up against the flashy lawyers on those dramas he won’t admit to watching when he can’t sleep at three a.m.

So maybe he doesn’t sleep in increments longer than four, it’s fine, he’s okay. Sleep is for losers anyway, losers who don’t save America by joining the best crime family in New York and single handedly taking them down from the inside.

He’s one hundred percent Jake Peralta, no he’s two hundred percent: old Jake plus all the badass things he got to do while undercover (minus the death and killing and substance abuse and pretending to have sex with prostitutes when he was really letting them have the couch and making eggs in the morning.) The fact that Amy is never here to see it is downright insulting, in fact he’s pretty sure it’s against the Partner Code.

Yeah, he knows the Partner Code doesn’t exist outside of that one road trip they took to pick up a perp that had robbed a bunch of ATMs and tried to run to Philly, but it was real then, and it’s real now Santiago, of course it is. The Partner Code specifically says that they have tell each other about everything, and Amy Santi-lie-ago hasn’t spoken to him in ages.

In her defense, she has a couple good reasons. In the six months he was gone, Holt had passed her around the detective pool, pairing her up with everyone at least once or twice before she’d be shuffled again. The official report is that Detective Santiago had numerous “personal issues” with apparently every single detective in the precinct, but no one is really willing to tell him what actually happened. So Amy’s still wrapping up the last of her cases, which is theoretically why she can’t pair up with him on his new ones. After work, she skips the trips to Shaw’s bar with a vague excuse about the night she’s planning with Teddy, or the homework she needs to finish from her latest seminar on power posing, whatever that is.

(He knows what it is. He caught Amy in the evidence locker three days ago with her hands on her hips, chest thrust out, shoulders back as she looked into the camera on the laptop she’d brought from home. It’s simultaneously disturbing and endearing, and he gets that feeling again, that itching underneath his skin he associates with the times he desperately wants to kiss Amy. He closes the door and jogs out of the precinct to conduct another interview with a local shopkeeper who swears he saw the thief walk into his produce section. He forgets his badge, his gun and his jacket at his desk.)

The point is, he hasn’t spoken to Amy since he came back, really hasn’t had a proper conversation since he left. He doesn’t count the two times they talked about his feelings, because he’s never seen her that uncomfortable and he’d rather pretend that he’s never been able to make her feel that awkward without any conscious effort.

He misses Amy. He’s missed her almost from the second he said goodbye, thought about her at least once a day and twice on Sundays because the Iannuchis were a good Catholic family and Amy’s the only person he’s ever known to go to Mass. He’s grown used to seeing her face across from him five times a day, can’t break the habit of ordering her coffee when he goes to grab something at the local Starbucks. The homeless guy outside the shop got to drink a lot of “venti Americano, two shots soy” while Jake enjoyed his Caramel frappachino.

He doesn’t know what he wants from Amy, other than her company. He has a vague image of them sitting on his couch and watching Die Hard again, from start to finish. Maybe she brings her box set of Lord of the Rings, and they act out their favorite scenes with all the replica swag they’ve bought each other over the years.

He thinks he’d like to hang out with her, junior high figures of speech aside. Beyond his inconvenient and clearly unwanted feelings, they’re best friends and partners to boot. He should be able to spend more time with his partner, right? A work wife is definitely a thing, and Jake’s pretty sure he could get used to being Amy’s work wife if she would let him.

But she’s been avoiding him, which brings him back to square one. Jake’s confused and tired and slightly hurt, because she said that they were okay, but what they have right now is not how Jake remembers okay feeling. He hasn’t had chamomile tea in months, and he’s been trying to force his hands to stop shaking until Amy’s able to make him a cup.

(He bought a packet about a month into the op, heated the water in his new microwave, steeped a tea bag for three minutes and swirled a spoon of the honey Amy likes. He took sip, gagged, and dumped the whole cup down the sink.)

Eventually, Holt gets tired of seeing Jake moping around, and calls Jake into his office while Amy’s filing papers in the evidence lock up.

“Sir, I swear I’ve been sleeping,” Jake says the second he closes the door, “Like multiple hours and everything.”

Holt raises an eyebrow, and gestures for Jake to take a seat. He steeples his fingers in front of him, frowning minutely at the desk before looking up.

“Peralta, is there a problem between you and Santiago?” Jake swallows, eyes widening as he tries to figure out how much Holt knows. “The two of you seemed quite close before you left, but have not conversed more than once or twice since your return.”

Jake looks down, puts his hands on the desk and starts drumming to the tune of Dance-y Reagan’s newest performance number. “I don’t really....” Jake doesn’t want to talk about his feelings with Holt, but he also wants to figure out how to fix this. “I just...Teddy,” he finishes.

Holt’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a tinge of surprise in the room that Jake decides to attribute to him. “What about Detective Wells?” Holt asks.

Jake bites his lip. “I mean, she has Teddy, right? And I’m just a...” Jake tries to think about how to put this without having to say that he likes Amy. Holt exhales sharply, and Jake’s head snaps up.

The Captain’s lips are twitching slightly, as his posture loosens. “Peralta, you seem to be laboring under the misconception that Detective Santiago did not feel your absence keenly these last six months.”

Jake blinks. Holt clears his throat, face back in neutral as he stares at Jake. He tightens his lips momentarily before he starts speaking.

“Eight days after you left,  I decided to assign Santiago a new partner. I believed that she could make use of the time you were gone by perhaps mentoring a detective who had just passed the requisite exams, and who then could be transferred elsewhere by the time of your return.” He pauses, leaning in a little. “Santiago had an......anxiety attack in my office.” Holt says the last words quietly, as if he wasn’t sure he should have said them at all, but Jake hardly notices that. He immediately bolts upright, eyes wide in surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” Jake shouts, before regulating his voice. “Wait, is she okay? Or, I guess she is, but how bad was it? Did you get her to regulate her breathing, because the calm image techniques don’t really work with her you literally have to use the numbers thing to get her to breathe properly....” Jake stops talking.

“I wasn’t aware that you knew about Santiago’s anxiety,” Holt says. Jake thinks it sounds a little like a challenge, but a lot more like respect. He nods. “I mean I have it too,” Jake says. “So we’ve been working on our issues together basically since we became partners, sir.”

Holt nods in acknowledgement. “Santiago told me that she could not have another partner, so I agreed to pair her up with other people in this precinct on a temporary basis. I see now, why your absence might have distressed her.” Holt looks down briefly. “Peralta, you know that a six month mentoring opportunity would have looked very good on her resume, yes?”

Jake bites his lip. “Yes sir, I do.” Holt lifts his chin. “So why then do you think that Santiago does not want, nor need your friendship?” The Captain tilts his head slightly. “I don’t presume to understand Detective Santiago all the time, but I do know that the current issue causing her not to seek you out is not that she does not like you." Holt lets this sink in for a bit. " Jake, I would at this point simply encourage you to find her and speak with her yourself.”

It’s good advice, though most of what Captain Holt tells him usually is. Jake stands up. “Thank you Sir,” he says, “I think I will.” He pauses. “Sir, permission for Detective Santiago and me to take the rest of the day off?”

The corner of Holt’s lip turns up. “Permission granted, Peralta.” Jake salutes, and walks straight to the evidence lock up to find Amy filing papers with her color coordinated folders. He waits for a few minutes, thinking about how he should approach her, before he just decides to take her hand and go.

“Come on, Ames, let’s bounce!” She blinks a couple times, looks down at their hands clasped together and back up at his face. He starts to blush, thinks about letting go before tightening his grip and tugging again. “You’re done, I’m done and we haven’t hung out in foreverrrr let’s go!”

She bites her lip, swallowing a couple times before looking at her shoes. Teddy. He sighs, let’s go over hand and watches as it falls to her side. _He shouldn’t have told her_ , he thinks for the millionth time. He can’t even remember why he wanted to in the first place.

(This is another lie. He knows exactly why he told her, can remember the panic he was shoving deep inside at that moment when he realized he might never see her again. It was selfish, he knows, to force that one her and he regrets it at moments like this, when he can see her struggling under the weight of his feelings. Other times, he remembers closing his eyes and not knowing how he was going to survive the next day, how he wasn’t going to slip up and lose everything. He doesn’t regret telling her, not really.)

He notices Amy watching him, and he tries to rearrange his face to let her know it’s ok. This is all his fault, and he would never want her to spend time with him out of pity. He opens his mouth to tell her, trying to think of a quip that will defuse the situation and grant him a casual exit, but before he can say something she takes his hand and starts walking.

Jake’s the one blinking now, but he follows on instinct, glaring at Rosa’s smirk as she watches them walk out of the precinct. They stop at Amy’s desk just long enough for her to pick up her phone, her jacket and her keys, and then they’re sitting inside her car.

Neither of them know what to say, and so they drive in silence. At one point, Amy asks Jake to get her phone out of her purse and text Teddy, saying that she won’t be able to make dinner tonight. Her lockscreen has been changed to a selfie of Amy and Teddy from their six month Anniversary drinks at Shaw’s, but her passcode is still the last four numbers of Jake’s serial number.

(You need those last digits for a lot of things, Peralta, and if this is the only way to get you to memorize them then so be it.)

Teddy texts back: _ok, see you tomorrow_. It’s a far cry from Jake’s error ridden, emoji full messages, but Jake tries not to think about that.

Amy parks her car in front of his apartment , but doesn’t try to move out of her seat. Jake’s palms start to sweat.

“What’s up, Jake?” She’s looking straight ahead, so he can’t read her face. He turns his head to look at her profile, and tries anyway.

She looks exhausted. Jake thinks about what Holt says, about how she had an anxiety attack over the thought of being assigned a new partner. He thinks about how little Amy likes change, and tries to imagine the last six months from her perspective. Jake looks a little closer at his partner, and starts picking up on the details he’d been glossing over these last few weeks. Her hair’s limp, her lipstick is a little smudged, her eyeliner is uneven. The corners of her lips turn down, and he can see her leaning into the seat, as if she can’t support her own weight anymore.

Honestly? Amy looks like she could use some chamomile tea.  

Jake sighs, letting out the type of full body exhale that releases tension from every last tendon.

“Do you want some tea?”

She snorts. “Chamomile?”

He nods. “Yeah. I haven’t had any in months.” Amy looks surprised, so he elaborates, shrugging his shoulders. “I could never make it taste as good as yours.”

Amy’s blushing, but she turns her head to the door to hide it, getting out and walking to his apartment. Jake smiles before he follows her, getting out the blankets from the top of the cupboard while she heats up the water, steeps the tea bags, swirls the honey.

He’s sitting on the couch when she comes in with the mugs. She sets them on the coffee table, and takes her own seat at the opposite side of the couch. She’s too far apart, but he can’t bring himself to mention it.

The silence that descends is cloying and awkward, sticky as it clogs the air in between them. He tries to disrupt it with a couple of witty remarks that fall flat, coaxes a half smile that recedes precious moments later. Jake finishes his tea, and clenches his jaw in disappointment.

He’s about to apologize again, stand up and offer her gas money for the incredibly useless trip she’s just taken, when he realizes that she’s looking at him. He doesn’t know how long she’s been staring like that, is about to interrupt when she takes her glass and chugs, swallowing down her tea in a quick few gulps before taking their empty glasses to the sink. He leans against the door frame while she washes them, and steps to the side when she walks out, eyes widening when she strides straight into his bedroom.

Amy’s rifling through his laundry basket when he opens the door, in search of something clean to change into. He moves past her to find one of the Terry t-shirts he sleeps in when he babysits Cagney and Lacey. Sarge always tells him to bring his own pajamas, but Jake never remembers, so he now has a sleep shirt for every day of the week, and then an extra two days if he forgets to do a load on Sunday.

Amy nods in thanks when he tosses the shirt, taking off her blouse utterly unconcerned over the fact that she’s stripping in front of her partner, the guy who’s still kind of into her. She pauses.

“You’re not looking, are you?” she calls over her shoulder. Currently, Jake’s got his head caught inside his own sleep shirt, which he’d started putting on the second he realized Amy was taking off her work clothes. He mumbles into the cotton, and he hears her laugh softly.

When they’re finished, Amy folds her clothes and sticks them on a chair in a nice neat pile, the one bit of order in the middle of all his chaos. She climbs under the bedsheets, motioning for him to join her. He crawls in, flopping on his stomach. He looks at her, wondering what her next move will be, and gasps when she scoots closer and puts her arms around him.

They’re _cuddling_ , and Jake thinks about ways to pinch himself without Amy noticing because this can’t be anything but an anxiety induced dream from when he was still undercover. He’d get them sometimes, brief respites where he could spend hours with Amy, holding her and kissing her forehead and doing all of these little domestic things he’d never thought he would be into.

Jake holds his breath, careful not to disturb her in case she realizes that she’s got a long term boyfriend, and this isn’t really what friends do.

(Well, Jake and Amy do, but....most friends don’t do this, right?)

“I missed you, Jake.” It’s a whisper, quiet against his chest, but she knows he can hear her. He nods, swallows around the lump in his throat, the burning in the back of his eyes.

“I was worried all the time. Had a couple panic attacks, and everything.” She says it like a confession, as if she feels guilty over her reaction to his absence. Jake’s heart drops, but before he can apologize Amy continues as if she can’t feel his heart pounding. “Holt helped me once. Rosa helped me the other time. We actually...she brought us here and we watched Disney movies. And got drunk.” Her voice has gotten even lower, and she starts twisting her fingers in the fabric of his shirt.

“I know,” he replies. “Rosa told me that time we met at the club.”

She jolts, rising in disbelief. She props herself of her elbows, and he turns on to his back.

“She told you?” He thinks for a couple seconds before nodding. “She met you?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I think it was the day you had your panic attack with her. She came to a club we were at. She was wearing a wig, and this really weird dress. We danced a little, and she told me how everyone is doing.” He breaks eye contact, looks to the side. “I....I was glad she came. I needed it, I think.”

She closes her eyes at that, lowers herself down and curls back into him. He thinks he hears her say something, but it’s lost in the rustle of the bed sheets as she pulls them up over their shoulders.

“It’s over now, isn’t it?” She sounds uncertain, and suddenly all he wants to do is wipe that last waver from her voice. Amy’s his friend, his partner, his buddy, his pal.

They’ll talk later, for realz this time. They’ll talk about the mafia, and her cases, about all the new drinks Jake can mix and the lunch spots Charles dragged Amy to when he realized his usual partner couldn’t join him for pickled tongue. They’ll even talk about Teddy, because he’s an important part of Amy’s life now, and Jake wouldn’t want her to feel like there was something off limits for them.  

Amy doesn’t want to be with him, so what? I missed you, she’d said. Just like he’d missed her.

“Yeah Ames,” he says. “It’s finally over.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, its the moment we've all been waiting for! This is actually a little longer than it was supposed to be because pinkbelle left a comment about how Holt might tell Jake about Amy's anxiety attack and it was so perfect that I had to write it in! So thank you, I hope the scene turned out like you thought it would! 
> 
> Again, kind of a big chapter in terms of like character development so I'd love to hear your thoughts on it! It ended up focusing a lot on Jake, and so I'm not sure if there was enough Amy here but I figure that considering how she got an entire chapter to herself it should be ok. Anyways, if you can, leave a comment below with your opinion on how this turned out, I hope you liked it!


	13. cup, the thirteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea, confessions, paperwork and binders. Jake and Amy moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag to 2x04: Halloween II (but like the vaguest sense, really. it barely counts)

Jake’s working on some extra paperwork when Amy walks into the bullpen carrying two travel mugs. He's been putting in the overtime hours he promised Holt, and the rest of the squad took it as a way of dumping their extra case files on him to finish while they went home. It’s lateish, but it’s not like either Jake nor Amy have ever really cared about working overtime: their mutual lack of a real social life is what makes the two of them so good at the job.

Things have gotten better: taking a nap together tends to wonders for an awkward relationship. Amy and Teddy are still going strong, and Jake isn’t going to do anything to get between them. If nothing else, Jake’s six months have reminded them both how valuable the other one is, has defined and illuminated the million different ways they’re bound to the other.

Nothing so ridiculous as one person’s romantic feelings can possibly get between that.

Amy takes a seat, and shoves one of the mugs into Jake’s line of vision. “Hey,” she says. “Hand me one of the files.”

Jake blinks up at her, and for a moment the only thing she can see is the little smudge of ink he’s got above his left eyebrow, as if he put his head in his stained hands and hasn’t taken a selfie to assess the quality of his face since. He looks at the mug, then at the paperwork he’s filling out, then back at Amy again.

“What?” he asks, eyes widening to force the sleep out of the corners. He frowns. “What are you even doing here?”

Amy shrugs, and gestures to the mug. “Drink your tea,” she says slowly. “Hand me a file.”

Jake smiles, giving her a stack of three from the set closest to his elbow. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Detective Santiago?” He takes a drink, and closes his eyes for a second.

Amy shrugs again, not that he can see it. “What can I say, I do love paperwork.” Jake opens his eyes and stares at her, lips quirked upwards. Amy bites her lip and squirms a little before she decides to ignore him, and start working on the report for the 7/11 taquito robber that Rosa and Charles caught last week. She clicks her tongue as she thinks about how long the girl’s going to go away for such low class taquitos. Her mother’s cooking, on the other hand is something Amy could see herself risking prison for.

Not that she would, of course, rob anything. She’s a detective, a future NYPD Captain and a morally upstanding citizen. Amy blushes, embarrassed at where her thoughts have taken her.

Jake laughs. “You couldn’t handle the idea of me filling out all of your paperwork,” he says with a smirk. Amy rolls her eyes, but bites her lip. Both she and Jake know he’s telling the truth.

“You’re just so _bad_ at it!” she blurts out, before covering her mouth. Jake laughs harder, leaning back in his chair as his whole body shakes in glee. Amy’s caught between offense, and this strange sense of gladness: she’s missed seeing him across her desk, missed his laughter and the way he always seems to know her better than she knows herself.

Amy looks back at the report, and notices that Jake had already made some headway on different sections of the paperwork: Amy works methodically from top to bottom while Jake goes from easiest to hardest, usually in the hopes that Amy will eventually snap and finish the rest while he’s in the bathroom. Rosa once asked Amy if it bothered her, knowing that Jake was taking advantage of their partnership to get Amy to do his work, but Amy just gestured to the stack of gel pens she’d found on her desk the morning before.

Jake, for all his faults, has never asked Amy to do something without offering some type of repayment. Amy hasn’t had to purchase common stationary items for the last ten years.

She looks through the sections Jake started on, and realizes that she’d probably do his reports for free. “Jake!” she yelps, “there’s only like three words you haven’t misspelled here!” She snatches the first folder sitting at the top of the “finished” pile and scans quickly, confirming her worst fear.

She looks at Jake, whose smile has dimmed, slightly. “I didn’t really have to do a lot of...you know, police reports while I was in the Mafia,” he says quietly. He drinks some tea to avoid looking directly at her.

Amy sighs, puts down the report and moves her chair over to his desk, grabbing her tea as she slides. She takes the stack closest to her, and moves it to her side, before putting her mug down in the newly empty space. She turns towards Jake, who’s looking at her strangely.

They both take a drink. Amy looks around: the station’s mostly deserted. She looks up at Jake, and notices the restlessness in his features. “How has the adjustment been?” she asks softly. “To being back.”

Jake looks to the side, and purses his lip for a second. He takes his cup off the desk and starts fiddling with it as he answers. “I’m doing ok,” he says to his lap. “It’s weird sometimes, but I wake up and I can’t remember that it’s over, that I’m not still working for the Family.”

He’s silent for a long time, but Amy has a feeling that he’s about to tell her something. She takes a few sips as she waits.

“I miss it sometimes,” Jake whispers suddenly, then clenches his jaw. Amy blinks, then rolls her chair closer. He looks up at her, and when he doesn’t see the revulsion he must have been expecting, he continues. “Not...not what I was doing, but just....it was a family, you know?”

Amy nods, and pushes her knee close enough to touch his. “You have a family here too, Jake.” He nods.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “but this was different.” He chews on his lip for a moment. “It kind of reminded me of yours,” he says. “Big and loud and...sometimes it felt like it was full of love.”

Amy tries not to take offense at the comparison, and thinks about the Mafia from Jake’s perspective. She gets it, at least on some level.

“I mean everything they did was awful,” Jake backtracks, “and they were actually all terrible too, like super sexist and racist and homophobic and oh my god they were like _super_ transphobic and like they kept saying these horrible things about...pretty much everybody, and that’s on top of all the illegal things they did and the killing and the--”

“Jake,” Amy interrupts. “It’s ok.” She takes a breath, and puts her hand on his knee. “I...understand? A little?” Jake nods.

She rubs her thumb against the fabric. Jake suddenly takes his cup and chugs down the rest of the tea. Amy thinks about what she’d going to say, rubbing her thumb to try and focus her thoughts.

“They took you in,” she decides on. “They took in the worst version of you, and added you to their family.” She doesn’t look away from his jeans to confirm her hunch.

Jake covers her hand with his own, and squeezes. “Yeah,” he says. “That sounds about right.”

Amy nods, looking at their hands on top of each other. She wonders if this is proper Partner behavior, if she’s leading him on somehow, but figures she isn’t going to let their awkwardness get in the way of their friendship.

“My brothers missed you while you were gone,” she says lightly. “They kept hounding me about where you were, and why you hadn’t been participating during Santiago Selfie Season.” Jake grins a little.

“Yeah, I kept seeing all of these things that would have been perfect for my selfies,” he says, “but the FBI would have killed me if they had found out.”

Amy flips her hand, and intertwines their fingers, ignoring the way Jake stiffens before he squeezes back. “Papi asked for you too,” she says. “He wanted to know why you were ignoring his emails.”

Jake looks a little guilty. “I couldn’t--”

“Risk it, I know,” she finishes for him. Jake smiles in relief. “I read them all,” he mutters. “Even took notes sometimes, before I’d remember I couldn’t send them.”

“You should send them now,” Amy says. “I’m sure he’d still love to discuss whatever it was you two were talking about.”

“He was teaching me about Catholicism, actually,” Jake says, “and I’m telling about whatever I still remember from my Bar Mitzvah and the years of daydreaming at the synagogue.”

Amy tilts her head, and Jake starts blushing. “It’s interesting,” he says with a challenge in his eye. Amy decides not to push.

“I’m sure it is,” she says. They stay like that for a little, smiling faintly at each other before Amy laughs suddenly. “I almost forgot: Mama wants you to come over for a family dinner soon. Actually she told me to invite you right after I told her that you’d been on a sting and not actually fired, so she’s probably going to be mad that I forgot.”

Jake starts to light up, before he suddenly looks very awkward. He releases her hand, and slides a little away from her, leaving a one foot space between them.

“Have you...um taken Teddy to see your parents?” Amy looks away, and nods. “It was...good,” she says. She frowns. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with you coming to dinner, Jake.”

She glares at him, until he agrees. “Good,” she says. “You can come on Sunday, Mama will have to invite everyone in the area, but I’m sure they’ll come when they hear you’re coming.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “I’m not that important, Santiago. Tell her not to worry.” Amy snorts.

“If you want to tell her that, you can do it yourself ‘mijo’,” she says incredulously. “I’m not getting anywhere near that.” Jake blushes again, and smiles to himself.

“Now, other than the horrifying fact that you’re an actual member of my family, we have a ton of paperwork to go through.” She finishes off her tea, and sticks the mug next to his at the side of his desk, taking the nearest file and opening it.

“You open up the program, and I’ll do the written work while you do the online stuff,” she says. “We’ll finish this up together, and then we’ll go to Staples and you’ll buy me three binders, ok?”

Jake doesn’t say anything, but when they finish two stacks full of reports at 3 a.m., he drives Amy to the closest stationary store and buys her five binders.

“Now you can have one for each day of the week,” he says at the checkout counter. “I noticed your old ones were getting a little full.”

Amy smiles, and adds some gummy bears to the pile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have no idea what this is, but I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel re: college essays so nothing really makes sense anymore except for the fact that my hair actually stands straight up now. No idea if anyone noticed that I didn't update last night, but if you did I'm sorry! Don't know if this installment makes up for being late, but I promise it will get better after I'm done with apps. again, if you have ideas for where I should take this or how jake and amy should react please leave them in the comments: I'm trying to make them seem even closer before they kiss but its hard when you consider how actually married they already are. 
> 
> thanks you for reading!


	14. cup, the fourteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake decides to help Amy add excitement back into her relationship. (He does her makeup)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag: 2x05: The Mole (again, just barely).

Jake wakes up to the sound of his microwave going off. Either he’s being robbed by someone even more incompetent (and hungry) than Hitchcock and Scully, or Amy’s making tea in his kitchen.

He puts on a shirt and grabs his gun, just to be sure. When he sees Amy, he relaxes and leaves it on the nearest surface, promising to to shove it back into it’s holster before he goes to bed

“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

Amy doesn’t reply, concentrates on stirring the honey into both cups before she hands him the princess mug.

He smiles in thanks and gestures to the couch, where they take a seat.

They sit in silence for a long moment, shifting a little awkwardly as they drink their tea. Eventually, Amy puts down her cup and looks at Jake, who does the same.

“I was talking to Gina,” she says, “after the whole....you know.” Jake winces, and tries to block out the image of his basically sister and best friend doing-the-dirty-do in Gina’s (his) (Nana’s) apartment.

They both shiver in vague disgust, before he looks at Amy to continue. “Anyways,” she says, “Gina and I were just talking, and our relationships came up, and I was telling her about how Teddy wasn’t perfect, and it just got me thinking you know....”

Jake blinks, trying to ignore the hollow thump in his chest area. “About how....Teddy isn’t perfect?” he asks with what he thinks is reasonable restraint.

Amy gasps and looks at Jake with guilt. “Jake, I’m so so sorry,” she starts. He can see her hand starting to shake faintly as she moves to stand up and leave. “This isn’t appropriate at all, God I’m so stupid I’m so sorry...”

Jake grabs her wrist, and she stops. He doesn’t look up for a moment, trying to figure out how to fix this, exactly. He doesn’t want to lie and say that talking about Teddy didn’t feel a little weird, but Amy should never feel like this around him, should never worry about what she lets slip when they’re talking.

Jake looks straight at Amy, and scoots a little closer to her on the couch. “Hey,” he says. It sounds good, so he says it again. “Hey.”

He takes in a breath, noticing the faint flush still painted on her cheeks. “Amy, you don’t have to worry, okay? I’m good. We can do this.”

“But--” she tries to interrupt.

“Nah,” he says, squeezing her arm. “Don’t change what you and I talk about just because I used to like you, okay?”

She frowns. “Used to?” He shrugs. It’s not quite the truth, but he figures that the ache he feels when he thinks about kissing Amy is getting slightly less painful, so he must be moving on. “Things change,” he says finally. “Time moves forward, the leaves get browner, you start asking for those fancy highlighters I have to order on the Japanese blackmarket...”

Amy’s eyes widen, and she leans back to punch him in the shoulder. “Peralta,” she yelps, “I did _not_ aid in you acquiring _stolen stationary_!”

“Technically, no,” he agrees. She starts to relax before she suddenly glares, shoulders straight as she prepares herself for the punchline.

“Technically, it’s not called ‘aid’ when your name’s the one on the purchase form,” he says, smirking. Amy screams somewhere in the back of her throat as she shoves him away from her, scooting to the edge and crossing her arms while he laughs.

“Jesus, Santiago,” he yells as his back hits the armrest. “Teddy can have you if that’s how you treat my thoughtful and caring gifts--”

“Committing a crime in my name is neither thoughtful, nor caring, Peralta,” she interrupts.

“--that I spent hours scouring the internet for,” he speaks over her, “translating Japanese websites with only my incredible brain and the local sushi shop owner to assist me on my quest to find you the perfect stationery for all of your freaky filing needs.”

They’re at the opposite sides of his sofa, staring at each other when Amy suddenly throws her hands up and shouts.

“Ugh!” she yells, “You’re the _worst_!”

Jake laughs, and any of the tension from before is gone, shattered, burned, destroyed by the familiarity of the last few minutes. Amy and Jake have been swinging from one extreme to the other the last month or so, but this moment feels like them from a year ago.

He takes his mug again and sips, reminding himself that this relationship, the laughter and comfort and mockery they slide into so easily is why it’s so important for him to put away any lingering romantic feelings for her. It’s not fair to either of them, not when so much is at stake.

“Hey,” he says one last time, “so what’s up with Teddy?”

Amy sighs, and takes her mug too. “I don’t know, it’s just kinda...we talk about pilsners a lot. Police code ran out eventually. Work, but not too much work.” She snickers a little. “He has these weird mesh underwear that I don’t even want to ask about.”

Jake bites his lip. Amy leans back and takes a sip.

“It’s been awhile,” she says. “I don’t know, it’s nice, but it’s kind of...”

“Stale?” he tries out. Amy nods. “Yeah, but not like in a way where I want it to end, but just... staleish.”

Jake swirls the tea at the bottom of his mug while he thinks. “When was the last time the two of you went out for dinner?” he asks. “Or just anything fancy or exciting?”

Amy opens her mouth to respond, and stops. She blushes. “Weeks,” she admits. “We’ve both been kind of busy, and it was always easier to just get food and eat at home in our pajamas or whatever,” she mutters. Jake nods.

“So why don’t you take him out tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll cover your shift, and you can go to that restaurant you like with the art and the square plates...” Amy starts to smile, but stops and frowns. She fidgets for a moment before she speaks, scuffing her shoes on the carpet.

“Kylie’s out of town for the month,” she mumbles into her lap. Jake wrinkles his forehead. “Does she still need to pick out your clothes?” he asks. “You’ve been with the guy for like eight months now, Teddy doesn’t need to be impressed anymore.”

“It’s tradition, Jake,” she says. “And it’s not just the dress. My makeup skills aren’t good enough for the place you’re thinking of, and Rosa or Gina aren’t really into that.” Jake starts to speak, but Amy holds up her hand. “Anything Gina’s interested in doing with my face is not something  can let Teddy see,” she says sternly. He thinks for a moment, before agreeing.

Jake and Amy lapse back into only a slightly awkward silence, when Jake gets an idea. He jumps up and hurries into his bedroom, coming back with a giant box. He sits on the ground, and starts taking out mirrors and foundation and powder and blush and tons of lipstick, organizing them into piles as he beckons her to sit next to him.

“Gina and Rosa leave their make up with me sometimes, and I do it for them when they’re bored or lazy or aren’t feeling it,” he explains.

He grabs two foundations, one of Gina’s and one of Rosa’s and thinks if he can combine them to match Amy’s skin tone. Jake goes to get a plate, and starts mixing the blobs together until he finds what looks vaguely like a match. He scoots closer to Amy, and dabs some against her neck, rubbing it in and frowning. He adds some more of Rosa’s and tries again, frowning before adding just a little of Gina’s and smiles.

Perfect. Jake wipes his fingers, and takes a brush to start applying the foundation all over Amy’s face. He pauses, looking up to ask if she wants him to contour her features.

“What?” she asks. “Jake...wait, I’m so confused. What exactly is happening?” Jake sighs, and puts his brush down.

“You said you couldn’t do the makeup, right?” he says. “As long as you can pick a dress, I can do your face  for you tomorrow, like in the bathroom before you leave.” At Amy’s dumbfounded expression, he adds “It’s not like a big secret that I do Gina’s makeup, and everyone knows your main source of fashion advice comes from the prostitutes you let off with a warning.” He laughs. “Also, your thirteen year old niece Maria.”

Amy wavers for a second before rolling her eyes and sighing. “Okay fine, but what’s a contour?”

Jake shrugs. “It’s like a way of defining certain features, and like changing the way they look.” At Amy’s blank look, he tries again. “Kim Kardashian?”

Amy recoils. “Um...maybe next time? Or never?” She points to the blend he’s go on the plate. “Let’s just try to make me look ok for now, without like changing anything up.”

Jake laughs a little and starts with the foundation, pointing out what he’s doing and where he learned his tricks from as the go on.

“Gina would always make me sit in while she learned how to do all this from Darlene,” he says as he instructs Amy to hollow her cheeks out so that he can put the blush on. He winces a little at the image of Gina and Charles that pops into his mind every time he thinks of either of them now. Amy wrinkles her nose in sympathy.

“Is it weird to see them together?” she asks. He shakes his head. “Well they aren’t anymore, so no.” Amy raises an eyebrow and waits.

Jake sighs, “It’s just so.....”

“Ewww,” they say together and nod. Jake asks Amy what color dress she’s thinking of wearing, before deciding to just do a light gold eyeshadow. When he’s finished, he draws in her eyeliner, asks her to open her eyes so that he can do some mascara and then looks to find a lipstick that’ll look good on Amy.

“Light or dark?” he mutters half to himself and the other half to Amy on the off chance that she has an opinion. “Can I have like a bold reddish?” she asks unexpectedly. Jake smiles at her, and then looks for Gina’s good colors, picking a couple nice shades he thinks he could play with.

A couple tries later, and Jake’s holding up the mirror to let Amy see the fruits of his labor. He notices her jaw drop slightly, and grins.

“I....Jake, this looks really good,” she says, touching her face. “Like really good.”

Jake rolls his eyes extra hard. “Duh, Santiago. I’m obviously incredible at everything I try.” He holds up a hand when she looks like she wants to list everything he _isn’t_ fantastic at (hygiene, remembering dates, math, handwriting), and reminds her who exactly is going to be replicating this look the next day.

Tomorrow, Teddy will come to pick Amy up from the precinct to take her to dinner and a play. Jake will do her makeup, and sit at his desk when she comes out of the bathroom in a sleek black dress.

“Kylie bought it for my birthday,” she’ll say when everyone applauds. She’ll smile at Jake, and it’ll only take his breath away from 10 seconds (he counted). “Jake did my make up.”

When Teddy says she looks beautiful, Amy will immediately blurt out “you too,” and refuse to elaborate when the squad breaks out into laughter.

Tomorrow, Teddy will kiss Amy’s forehead while the two of them walk out, and Jake will only wish it were him for 5 seconds.

 _Progress_ , he’ll think, before he starts filling out his latest report for the Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't really been sticking to the stuff that happens in the episodes, but I was wondering where to cram in the makeup scene so here it is! This feels kind of patchworky to me, but everything was pretty cute in my head so I was like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Hope u like it! Leave suggestions of things you want to see in the comments, I promise I'll probably find a way to work them into the story (I need inspiration for things that Jake and Amy can do while drinking tea or other scenes to include send help)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. cup, the fifteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teddy skips a date, and Jake ends up going to dinner with Amy. But it's all good: totally platonic stylez and everything. Especially since they're both in a relationship with other people. Super good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag: 2x06 (still barely but there's a conversation at the end ok)

Amy puts down her phone with more than a little frustration. Teddy has to work late, and he won’t be able to pick her up for dinner. Jake looks up from his desk, eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

Amy flushes a little, ashamed at her mini outburst even if no one else notices or cares.

“Teddy canceled,” she mutters, “and now I have to take the subway home because he was supposed to pick me up for dinner.”

Jake frowns, before taking his phone out. He checks something and nods, sticking it back in his pocket as he rises. He grabs his jacket and hands his finished paperwork to Terry.

“C’mon Ames,” he says when he walks back to her desk, “let me take you home.”

She blinks up at him, and suddenly realizes how long it’s been since the two of them had hung out by themselves. It’s not awkward anymore, especially since Jake seems to have moved both on and upwards if the stories about Sophia are true. From all reports, he seems to have found his perfect match, and his life has been understandably caught up in the flush of his brand new relationship.

He asks Amy for advice now, about good restaurants and activities that will work with his budget without signifying that he’s struggling with crushing debt. Amy supposes that this is what Jake Peralta finally growing up looks like, and there’s a small (miniscule, really) part of her that aches at that realization.

Amy smiles, because it really has been a while. She doesn’t begrudge Jake the time he’s spending with Sophia, but it does seem to highlight the drudgery her own relationship with Teddy has fallen into. Amy shakes her head to halt that particular train of thought, and stands up.

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s go.”

Jake’s walking a little ahead of Amy, and there are all of these little things Amy’s just starting to realize about him, differences that she only can identify now that she has something to contrast pre-Sophia (post-Amy) with. There’s a little bounce in his step, as if his happiness is struggling to escape the confines of gravity. His clothes are a little neater, or at least less stained. His shoulders don’t seem so weighted, his eyes are a little brighter.

Amy hates that she hadn’t even noticed all of these things until they were gone, but most of all, she thinks she hates that it took a Sophia to make it go away. Amy wishes that the Nine-Nine could have been good enough (that _she_ could have been good enough), because for all of these years, they were all Jake had.

She feels like a bad friend, but she reminds herself that there’s nothing she can do about that. The fact of the matter is that Jake is in a romantic relationship, one of the only ones she can remember him being a part of over these ten years. And she, Amy Santiago, knows better than anyone else that being in a relationship with someone doesn’t mean that you don’t need a best friend.

Jake unlocks the car and Amy slides into the passenger seat. It’s quiet, but the silence feels full in a way, as if adding to it would cause something between them to burst. Eventually, Amy remembers why she had been so excited about dinner tonight and gasps.

“I’m going to have to cancel my reservation,” she says sheepishly when Jake looks at her. “It was this really cute Italian place that just opened up, I’ve kind of been waiting to eat there all week.”

Jake’s lips press together as he holds back a smile, and Amy feels like she has to justify her life choices some more. “Mrs. Delano says that it has the best pasta primavera she’s ever had, and apparently the pizza is to _die_ for, Jake. I wanted to eat a meal _to die for_.”

This time, Jake doesn’t try to hold back the laughter. Amy pouts, but if a corner of her lip turns up, she makes sure its the side not facing him.

Jake suddenly gets pensive, looks at Amy out of the corner of his eye before staring straight ahead. Amy wonders if she should call him out on it, before she starts speaking a little hesitantly.

“Umm,” he begins, “I’m not doing anything tonight, if you....need someone to go with.” Jake bites his lip, and refuses to look at her. She watches him honk more than necessary at the taxi in front of them, and thinks for a moment.

Both of them are in relationships with other people, so there’s no issue of feelings to deal with. Jake’s been one of her best friends (if not _the_ best friend) for years now, so going out to dinner isn’t exactly unprecedented. Actually, if this had been before Jake left she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. She doesn’t actually have to tell Teddy, but even if she does, he won’t care. Or at least, he shouldn’t because she’s an independent woman who can maintain platonic relationships with people of other genders. Jake’s the one who offered, so Sophia probably doesn’t care either.

Logically, there’s no reason for the vague sense of unease she’s feeling, as if she both desperately wants to go out to dinner with Jake and also kind of wants to run in the opposite direction. She forces her brain to change track, and nods before she can psychoanalyze herself into a rut she won’t be able to climb out of.

“Thanks, man,” she says instead. “It’s kind of close to my apartment so we’ll just park in front of my place and walk if that’s okay.”

Jake nods, and turns on the radio. Amy finds their compromise station, and for the next few minutes they take turns belting out the lyrics to oldish Katy Perry hits until they reach her apartment. Amy gestures for him to come inside while she changes out of her pantsuit: for Teddy she might have worn a dress, but now she just wants to find something a little less formal, maybe without a collar.

When she walks out of her bedroom, Jake whistles twice and motions for her to spin around. She rolls her eyes before obliging, holding her hands out to grasp an imaginary skirt as she twirls. Amy’s wearing jeans and a sweater her Mama bought for her two Christmases ago -- she’s not exactly at the height of beauty, but there’s something about spinning that reminds her of the time she convinced her Papi to buy her a Snow White costume for Halloween. She tosses Jake a button up he’d left at her place sometime in the last year.

“No work clothes Peralta,” she says. He nods, shrugging out of his plaid to put on the slightly dressier version. He hands her the flannel, and Amy puts it in the laundry, reminding herself to put it with the rest of Jake’s clothes she keeps in the corner of her dresser.

Properly attired, they walk out of the apartment and towards Amy’s newest culinary obsession, talking about the case they’re working on as they make their way down the sidewalks of Amy’s neighborhood. At some point, Amy’s slipped her elbow through his and they’ve made some type of game out of skipping in tandem: first person to slip up has to buy the bruschetta. She shoves him right before they reach the doors and doesn’t listen to his complaints when she goes to claim their table.

“Two for Amy Santiago,” she says as Jake whines. “Boo-hoo Jake, that isn’t even the hardest I’ve hit you.”

“That’s because you’re mean and cruel and hateful Ames,” he pouts as he puts his hand the space where her elbow might have theoretically hit his ribs. She kind of wants to rub it in sympathy, but that would defeat the entire purpose of elbowing him in the first place (and also wouldn’t be Proper Friend Behavior.)

“If you could just follow me this way,” the waiter says. They follow her, bickering quietly as they’re led to a booth in the corner. They look for a moment, noticing the candles and the plates and all the other couples around them before deciding to sit on the same side of the booth.

It can’t be _that_ romantic if they can’t see each other’s faces, right?

Jake slides in first, leaving Amy the aisle seat: it’s the type of thoughtlessly thoughtful gesture that warms Amy somewhere in the left corner of her heart. She squeezes his knee in thanks, and smiles when he blushes at having been caught.

“So I’ll order us the bruschetta,” he starts, “but is there something you want to get?”

Amy frowns, because she was planning to order a few of the dishes to split with Teddy. She hadn’t wanted to limit herself to just one thing, which was why she’d been so adamant about coming with someone else. Ordering multiple entrees just looks weird and sad when it's for one person.

“Do you mind just splitting a bunch of things?” she asks. “I kind of want pizza _and_ pasta if you’re okay with that.”

Jake grins. “As long as you don’t send me into even crushinger debt, I’m good with whatever you want,” he says. “Order for me, then.” He closes his menu.

Amy’s always liked that about Jake: he’s got very little pride when it comes to things like this. Sure he pretends to be all alpha male when it comes to the job, but with things like ordering food and driving, he’s always defaulted to the person best suited for the job: whoever owns the car, and the person who suggested the restaurant. Also, relative sobriety.

“We’ll have a pasta primavera, and a meat lover’s Supreme,” Amy orders, smiling at Jake. “Oh, and a bruschetta to start with, sorry. And maybe a calzone? The regular one.”

When the waiter asks if they want drinks, Amy hums and looks at Jake, trying to guess what he wants. She isn’t really in the mood to get drunk, so she decides on an orange soda for him, and a Coke for her. Jake grins, and nudges her.

“Perfect order, Santiago,” he says. “Not bad at all.”

“Thanks,” she says. “You’re pretty easy to order for.” He laughs. “And the fact that we’ve been ordering take out together for ten years has absolutely nothing to do with that,” he says.

Amy laughs, which she notices is surprisingly easier to do when out with Jake rather than Teddy. She knew that Teddy was more serious: it’s why she likes him so much after all. But she’s a little thrown by how nice it is to sit here and volley jokes, sneaking pieces from his half of the bruschetta while they see who can swallow the largest gulp of their drinks (Jake, but only because his mouth is so obscenely large.)

It’s like that the entire time: warm and comfortable, like the cashmere throw she splurged on with her first Detective pay check. The two of them have gravitated towards each other, and by desert Amy’s leg is bumping against Jake’s, and their elbows are knocking more often than not.

They’re stuffed, but Amy really wants to try the gelato. She asks for two spoons, and they spend half an hour polishing off the two scoops of almond that were designated as “chef’s choice.”

“Well, that was the single best meal I’ve had in weeks,” Jake says as he leans back. Amy puts her head on his shoulder as his arm automatically goes around her. “Agreed,” she mutters, closing her eyes for a second. He kind of smells nice, she thinks vaguely before she forces the thought down.

“Hey Ames,” Jake says as he lifts his shoulder. “Let’s go home, ‘kay?” Amy nods, and notices the bill sitting discreetly at the side of the table.

“Halfsies?” Jake asks. Amy shakes her head. “Pay me...” she searches for the bruschetta, “seven dollars, and I’ll cover the rest.”

“Sweet,” he says, “Free food! Thanks Santiago.” Amy smiles. “Thanks for coming, Peralta.”

They pay and walk out, this time making their way slowly as they meander through the streets. Amy points out certain points of interest, or at least interesting for Jake: the place that old homeless guy pees every other day, the corner where she knows those teenage boys are dealing pot while she’s at work, the apartment complex full of the grandmothers who make up her knitting club.

“Ooh,” he says suddenly. “Are they the ones who made me the knit outfit last year?” Amy blushes, because yes a good portion of her knitting club did in fact band together to make Jake a sweater, socks, mittens, gloves and a stripey scarf last winter. They hadn’t really given her an answer when she’d asked why, so Amy had solemnly delivered their gift basket to Jake on the day before she left on break.

They reach her apartment, and Amy realizes that she doesn’t really want him to leave. She catches his hand, and lifts her chin towards her door. Jake wrinkles his forehead for a moment, before nodding. When they walk inside, Jake immediately collapses on her couch. Amy stands for a moment before walking into her kitchen. She fiddles with her mugs, heating the water and steeping the tea bags and adding the honey before she walks back into her living room.

She passes Jake a mug and sits on the couch next to him, choosing to ignore the way he’s put his feet up on her coffee table. He notices her looking, and immediately puts his feet on the floor, apologizing under his breath.

“Hey,” Jake says as he takes a sip. “Union rep, huh? We never really talked about that.” Amy grimaces.

“I like it,” she says. “I just hope it won’t do more harm than good.”

Jake nods. “You think you’ll clash with the brass?” Amy frowns. “I don’t know,” she says. “ I mean that’s what usually happens, right? And I can’t put my career aspirations over the people I represent.”

Jake smiles fondly, and Amy feels a little better despite currently contemplating her act of career suicide. He puts a hand on her knee and squeezes, waiting for Amy to look up.

“I don’t know how much this is worth,” he begins, “but I don’t think you’ll have too much trouble.” Amy starts to interrupt, but Jake squeezes her knee again. “Just think about it Amy, the person you’d probably be dealing with most is Holt, right?” He waits for Amy to nod. “And he loves you, and more importantly knows that you want to be Captain. He isn’t the type to make that too difficult for you.”

Amy blinks, considering his argument.They both take a drink.  It hadn’t actually occurred to her, that the “brass” she’d been building up in her head largely consisted of Captain Holt. On one hand, that made the idea of having to negotiate on behalf of the precinct a little daunting, but on the other Jake was right. Holt wasn’t the type to hold a grudge or make it very painful. After all, he was the one to push her to run for Union rep in the first place.

“And if you do have to deal with a higher up,” Jake continues, thinking out loud now, “it’ll either be part of like a group where you won’t have to speak unless you want to, or....I don’t know, if you want to take something over Holt’s head? I mean if it gets that bad we’ll just tell Gina to mess with his schedule until he meets our demands or whatever.”

Amy laughs, collapsing a little into the seat cushions, because of course it’s that easy. She leans on Jake’s shoulder again, because she doesn’t think she’s ever met someone who could make her feel better quite so quickly. He’s being an excellent best friend right now, so she decides to repay the favor.

“How’s Sophia?” she asks. If she takes a certain pride in how she manages to sound casually interested in his love life she won’t admit it, even to herself. She ignores the slight pang at how wide he smiles at the thought of his girlfriend.  

“She’s great!” he says enthusiastically. “We went on a walking tour of old New York murders a few days ago. It was totally awesome, and then we went and taste tested a bunch of hot dogs from the food carts that were in the area which, I mean, quadruple awesome, right?”

Amy smiles and nuzzles her head a little against the fabric of his shirt. She wonders if she should say something more, ask him questions about the places he takes her and the types of movies they like to watch together, but suddenly she’s just exhausted of it all. She doesn’t know what exactly her feelings are anymore, and she doesn’t want to ruin what has ended up to be a pretty good day by trying to untangle the strings that have snagged at the bottom of her throat.

“I’m happy for you Pineapples,” she says finally, “you deserve a girl that’s just as weird as you are.”

Jake laughs, and puts his arm around her. “So you’ve got a guy who memorizes police code and I’ve got a girl who’s three repetitions away from officially having watched Die Hard more times than me. Life’s pretty good, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says, and God help her she really tries to mean it. “I guess it really is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like this is almost their one moment of platonic paradise because amy will slowly start acknowledge her feelings and realize that wow she really did like jake a little bit and she flails a bit because she is still with teddy and etc etc. but right now, the revelation is only just starting, so the two of them get to go on a date, that isn't actually a date. 
> 
> i just want them to be happy, ok? Suggestions are very much appreciated for what situations I should write next. I appreciate all feedback in any form, if you have the time. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoy this nearly as much as I enjoy writing it.


	16. cup, the sixteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy and captaincies, or lack thereof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag for 2x07: Lockdown

After the fires are put out and most of the perps have gone home, Jake walks into the Captain’s office and shuts the door. 

He shuffles to the couch before crashing, flopping dramatically as he shoves his face into the cushions.  A few moments later, Amy walks in carrying two mugs of tea. She hesitates for a moment, before Jake looks up and points at the Captain’s chair. 

“You know you want it,” he says. “ _ Captain Santiago _ .” Amy blushes. 

“Don’t call me that,” she whispers, handing him his mug before tentatively taking a seat. 

Jake lays on his back, putting the mug on the floor next to him and reaching for the blanket he knows Gina keeps underneath the sofa. He covers himself in the image of a murderous unicorn, questions once again why he actively chooses to associate with Gina Linetti and looks at Amy as she takes a sip. 

There’s something that feels right about this image, he thinks. Amy Santiago, captain of all she can see from her seat. Jake can imagine Captain Santiago in ten years: firm but fair, competitive and kind and devoted both to the job as well as the people under her command. 

He sighs, and closes his eyes. There’s a reason that Amy wants to be Captain and he definitely doesn’t, and today was the final nail in that coffin. 

“Hey,” Amy says. “You okay?” Jake smiles faintly and keeps his eyes closed. He can hear her frown but he’s just exhausted, too tired to try and maintain a conversation. Amy gets up, and he feels her nudge him to move his head a little so that she can sit down next to him on the couch. Jake bites his lip for a moment, before he decides to just go with his gut. He lets Amy sit down, and then shifts forward so that his head is in her lap. 

He can feel Amy stiffen, before deliberately relaxing. He frowns into the fabric of her pants and starts to raise his head before she exhales, sliding her hand through his hair and pressing him into her lap just slightly. 

He raises an eyebrow, though he isn’t sure if she can see it. Amy shifts in embarrassment, muttering a “shut up Peralta” under her breath as she works her fingers through a knot near the base of his skull. 

They sit like that for what feels like hours, Amy combing through Jake’s hair again and again until Jake almost feels like he could fall asleep right there in Captain Holt’s office. He’s about to drift off when Amy starts to speak, tentative and low like she’s afraid of his response.  

“Hey Jake,” Amy says softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead, “do you think you’d do it again?” 

Jake stirs, opening his eyes to look up at a slightly blushing Amy. He thinks he knows where she’s going with this, but he isn’t sure if he should just address it straight on or let her say it first. 

He figures that Amy’s always preferred the direct approach, so he gets up, ignoring her slight gasp to grab her shoulders and look directly into her eyes. 

“Ames,” he says. “I don’t want want to be Captain, okay?” He rubs his thumb against the fabric of her blouse, smiling at the faint look of indignation he can see on her face. “I know  _ you _ want it, but it’s just never really been my style, you know? You don’t have to worry about me poaching your job, or anything.” 

Jake pretends not to notice the tension that bleeds off of Amy’s shoulders when he says that. He lowers his head back into her lap, taking her wrist and placing it back in his hair as he closes his eyes. 

“I thought you knew that, Santiago,” he says quietly. “It’s not like I’ve been attending those leadership seminars like you, or memorized police codes, or done really any of the work you’ve put in towards Captain.” 

Amy’s quiet for a bit, and he can hear her start to say something four times before she speaks again. 

“Did you know that Rosa was offered a Captaincy?” she asks lightly, hand moving in deliberate random spirals across his scalp. Jake nods. 

“The super boring one, right? I think she mentioned it after she told them no--oh.” 

Amy nods. “And...I don’t know. The Captain mentors her sometimes about being a leader, and she got the whole Giggle Pig thing...” 

“Do you think she doesn’t deserve it?” Jake asks, even if he’s pretty sure of her answer.

Amy’s eyes widen. “Of course she deserves it!” she shouts before catching herself. “Rosa’s great, she’s the best, she’s an incredible detective and super badass and highly effective and her hair’s amazing and...” Amy’s eyes narrow. “I’ve got her back Peralta. Don’t you try that girl on girl nonsense.” 

Jake laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it Ames. Just wanted to make sure.” Amy nods decisively. “Well now you know. I’m glad Rosa’s doing so well. And she’s definitely earned it. I just...” 

“...wish you had known she wanted it?” Jake asks. She looks from side to side before nodding quickly. 

“I promise I’m not going to tell Rosa if you’re a little jealous,” Jake says. “It’s not the end of the world.” 

“I’m not though!” Amy says. She says it again at the look on Jake’s face. “I just worry sometimes that maybe...I don’t know, maybe the reason I won’t make Captain is because I’m so obsessed with it?” 

Jake swallows around the lump in his throat and grabs her hand. “Amy,” he says softly, “I’ve never ever thought that you were going to be anything less than a Captain, alright? And you’re going to be an awesome one. Peralta Guarantee.” 

“Can’t be worse than me today, anyways,” he continues. “Clearly, I’m not meant to be anything but the greatest detective the world has ever seen.” 

Amy’s hand stops. “I don’t think you were horrible,” she says, a strange note coloring her words, “You were fine once you stopped trying to get everyone to like you.” 

Jake opens his eyes. “Eh. You’d have been way better. There probably wouldn’t have been a fire, for one.” He smiles, placing his hand over hers. “It’s okay though, I don’t have to be good at being a Captain. You do, and if you’re half as good at Captaining as you are at teaching  _ me  _ how to do it you should be fine.” 

Amy hums, trying to hide her smile by biting her bottom lip. She’s quiet for a few moments, tracing patterns on the skin of his hairline, swirls and lines and little flower chains until she can sort through her thoughts. 

“I just....I don’t really get why you were so weird at the beginning, you know?” She sighs. “Why did you need everyone to like you?” 

Jake blinks up at her, moving on to his side to avoid looking at her. To be honest, he’s not really sure himself. 

Amy swirls his hair around her pointer finger, rubbing her thumb along the outside of his ear. 

“People don’t leave if they like you,” he mumbles eventually. It’s a revelation he’s just come to, but it sounds right, the way it comes out of his mouth. “It’s weird, but I always wondered if maybe my dad left because he didn’t like us enough.” Jake groans. “That doesn’t make sense at all, does it?” 

Amy exhales. “It does, a little. But Jake, why does that apply to perps? And  _ lawyers _ ?” 

Jake doesn’t know. “I don’t know!” he says, frustration creeping into his voice. “I just....I  _ hate  _ it when people don’t like me, I just...I go all weird, and nervous and my stomach gets weird and I just--”

“It makes you anxious,” Amy finishes for him. Jake nods, shutting his eyes tight. She starts rubbing circles into his scalp with the fingers of her right hand, and rests her left on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Jake turns onto his back, opening his eyes to smile. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re right, it doesn’t make a ton of sense. I’ll work it out eventually, I guess.” 

Amy leans over to sip from tea he left on the floor, swirling the mug every once in awhile as she finishes the cup. “Well, even if you don’t work it out, it’ll probably be fine,” she says with a grin.

“Oh yeah?” Jake asks. Amy nods decisively.  

“Every good Captain needs a Sergeant,” Amy says looking into his eyes, “And you better believe I’m taking you with me.” Jake snorts, grinning back at her. “Between the two of us,” Amy continues,  “and frankly what will obviously be the single most amazing precinct in the history of the Force, I think we’ll manage to figure it out.” 

Jake laughs, bringing his left hand to a salute. 

“Yes ma’am, Captain Santiago.” 

Amy nods. “That’s what I like to hear.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....ha. ha. haaa.....oh lord. remember when i was updating every night? oh how the mighty truly have fallen. well let's just say that i am actually working on this, and that this is a thing that is in fact happening. im crying i had to tell myself that this update was my birthday present to myself to even like write the thing BUT the important thing is that it happened, i made my deadline (ok so its like an hour into my birthday when im posting this but whatever) ITS UP FINALLY
> 
> for everyone who literally does not care about my posting schedule (bc who would tbh?) I hope this is ok! It's...well it's been a month, so I don't know if I've quite gotten back in the groove but I gave it a shot. And the image of Jake's head in Amy's lap covers most sins, I think. :) Any and all feedback is appreciated, and as always if you'd just like to fall apart in the comments lead the way and I'll follow in the replies! (which...i will get to and answer by tomorrow i swear)
> 
> thanks for sticking with me so far! i hope this was halfway decent!!!


	17. cup, the seventeenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy's smoking and Jake's confused, so they watch a movie. Also, hold hands, but that really isn't super important, no not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag for 2x08: USPIS

When Jake enters the precinct after the raid, the first thing he notices is that Amy’s still at her desk. Then, he notices the lighter.

You see, the thing about Amy’s cigarettes is that mostly, it's not really something they talk about. Amy smokes when she’s anxious, and he’s managed to figure out that it's a combination of the genuine relaxation the act offers her and the association she makes between the smell and her father who does the same. She knows it's unhealthy, that she’s bound to die of lung cancer if she doesn’t get over her addiction, and so most of the time she does: get over it that is. The cigarettes come out during Red-balls and yearly evaluations, and usually not much else.

She’s got it under control, or at least she says she does, and Jake chooses to believe her. Kind of.

So Amy’s playing with a lighter, and as far as Jake can tell there’s neither a child kidnapping or a surprise inspection, so it’s gotta be pretty bad. He’s exhausted, but there’s something about this moment that makes him pause, that tells him he’d regret not taking a seat across their desk and listening.

He sits down. “Ames,” he says, nodding.

She looks up. “Jake! Did it go alright?”

He smiles, picking up one of his rubix cubes. “Yeah, pretty well. Donger got knocked out trying to rush into the doorway, so maybe God isn’t dead after all.”

She snorts, tossing the lighter in her right hand. She takes note of the way his eyes drift to it, watching her throw and catch until she can’t stand the weight of all the questions he isn’t asking.

“I started smoking again,” she mumbles. “Gina, the Sarge and Captain Holt tried to help me stop, but it didn’t work out.” She spins the lighter, pink plastic against the wood, and avoids his eyes. “So I quit quitting, until I stop freaking out about the quitting and can quit for real.”

Jake hums the refrain to an old Taylor Swift song as he makes his way through the rubix cube. He gets up. “We keep some tea here, right? I’m thirsty.”

“For chamomile tea? I think so, I mean unless Hitchock or Scully found it and used the tea bags to feed their fish or something. Or Gina I guess. Gina might have used the tea to feed Hitchcock and Scully’s fish.”

Jake shakes his head. “Gina’s more replace-the-fish-water-with-vodka. She’s already made plans, but I’ve been stealing her vodka since January so we should be good for now.”

“Huh. I guess I should have thought of that.”

Jake shrugs his shoulders. Amy gets up, shoving the lighter into her pocket as they make their way to the breakroom. Jake sits at the table while Amy makes the tea, and then carries the mugs back to their desks.

They both take a sip.

“So, Amy Santiago,” he begins. “You started smoking again.”

Amy blushes. “I don’t know why, it’s just been.....” She breaks off. “I don’t know, Jake.”

She looks at the lighter she’s still clutching in one hand, the tea she’s holding in the other. “I just really needed a cigarette so I smoked one, and I just haven’t been able to--”

“Stop?” Amy nods. “So you decided to quit, because you always do.”

Amy nods again. “The Sarge taught me this thing with like really cold buckets of water, and the Captain took me running, and Gina did this weird guided meditation thing with all three of us, and it was really nice of them all but I kept failing, you know? And then the Captain told me that maybe I was so freaked out about how I had to quit completely that I was just making it harder for myself”

“So you quit, but you’re chill to like, make mistakes and stuff.”  
  
Amy gives him a long look. “So you quit, but you’re chill to like, not show anybody else that you’re making mistakes and stuff,” Jake amends. Amy’s lips curve around the rim of the tea mug as she takes a sip.

“How was the raid?” she asks after a few minutes. Jake bites his lip and laughs, but they can both hear a shade of...well, something that isn’t quite humor.

“I was an ass,” he says. “I can’t believe I let my...” he sighs, starts tipping his mug slightly, tracing his thumb around the handle. “I almost blew the whole thing, because I forgot that Rosa was actually my boss and not just...”

“Your friend.” Jake can feel Amy looking at him, but he focuses all of his attention on the mug in front of him. “Did you apologize?” she asks eventually.

“Yeah,” he says. “She tried to fake me out after, tell me I was going to man the radio while they went and took everyone down, but we’re good and everything.”

“You gonna do it again?”

Jake shakes his head no, before pausing. “I’m going to try really hard not to, but I can’t really be 100 percent sure.”

Amy laughs, because Amy knows that Jake knows that Amy appreciates precision, and also a little wiggle room in promises. Once, on a stakeout early in their partnership, she’d told him that she didn’t really trust 100 percents, so he’s tried to make sure that he only uses them when he really is 100 percent sure. Preferably, 101 percent, just to be safe.  

“Do you want me to buy you some patches? Or are you going to try the gum?” Jake remembers Amy’s last brush with legit nicotine addiction, but both of them have changed in a lot of ways in the years since.

“Maybe,” she replies, slightly distracted. He watches her fingers tap against the surface of her desk. After a few minutes, she looks up and takes a breath.

“Can we watch a movie?” she asks softly, deliberately focusing on the area between Jake’s eyes to avoid his gaze.

“Like at a movie theater? Or--”

“At your place, if that's okay.” Amy’s back to looking at her desk, and Jake can see a blush slowly creeping up her cheeks. For some reason, she’s really embarrassed about wanting to watch a movie at his place. Jake isn’t quite sure what’s going on, but he wasn’t really doing anything better tonight anyway.

“Sure. I was gonna ask if you wanted to buy me some takeout anyways, because I’m feeling pretty broke today.” His finances are actually doing better than ever, but she doesn’t have to know. “Did you drive today? I had a beat cop drop me off.”

Amy’s eyes widen as she mutters something about her car being in the shop. Jake vaguely remembers something about her car’s yearly check-up which doesn’t really sound like a Thing but at the same time sounds like an extremely Amy Thing to do. “It’s okay,” he says, “we can take the subway.”  

Amy nods, shrugging her coat on as she takes both of their mugs to the sink and washes them, drying and putting them away while Jake watches from the doorway. The lighter’s in her pocket now, and when she turns away from the cupboard, her left hand drifts to clutch at it through the fabric.

It’s a split second decision, but when they walk out of the precinct, Jake takes her hand in his and laces their fingers together. He can hear Amy gasp a little, but all she does is squeeze back so he’s pretty sure she doesn’t mind. They make their way to the station, only breaking apart in the time it takes to get through the turnstile, and even then Amy grabs for him the second they reach the platform.

They hold hands on the subway too, sitting side by side, hands resting on the seam created by the way their legs are touching. Amy rests her head on his shoulder, and Jake looks at the way her arm is tangled slightly with his, the contrast between their skin. Someone further down the compartment starts singing, an old love song Jake thinks he recognizes from the radio station his Nana used to keep on in the background all throughout his childhood. Amy starts humming along with the chorus, throwing out words every other line while Jake’s thumb absently strokes the back of her hand with the rhythm.

He looks down at her, the way she’s closed her eyes as she sings under her breath, eyelashes curling against her cheekbones, and he wonders if this is what they might have been like as a couple. Mumbling songs and holding hands on the way to watching a C- movie at Jake’s place, after a similarly C- day.

That of course is a completely useless line of thought, especially since they’re both in super great relationships and them two are totally platonic together and everything, but.....

This is totally how it would have been, right?

They end up holding hands all the way up to Jake’s apartment, all the way until the front door closes and they realize they have to let go to take off their jackets.

Jake’s tv is in his bedroom, so he tosses her the clothes she usually ends up wearing at his apartment, at least whenever she isn’t wearing her own. A few minutes later, Jake and Amy are in sweatpants and t-shirts, and Jake’s sticking _Training Day_ into his DVD player with the air of a man who’s just been forced into destroying his entire moral core for a friend.

“I’ve been feeling kind of anxious lately,” Amy announces suddenly. Jake turns from the DVD player, vaguely aware of the menu screen that’s now playing behind his back. Amy’s got the lighter in her hand again, cross legged on top of his bed sheets as she touches the cigarette box she’s taken out of her purse.

“Do you know why?” Jake asks as he sinks into the bed beside her. She unfolds herself to sit against the headboard, watching the menu screen cycle through the same four scenes before starting again. She shakes her head.

"Have you tried talking to your shrink?” Jake throws out half-heartedly, watching as Amy wrinkles her nose. “It’s not really at that level,” she says.

“Well, when’s the last time you really fell off the wagon,” he says next, trying to visualize anything that might have triggered the current situation.

She shrugs her shoulders, looking away. Jake purses his lips. “How long has it been since you started smoking again, Santiago?”

Amy rubs her thumb against the opening of the cigarette box. “Can we talk about this another time? Maybe never?”

Jake sighs, glancing at his phone to check the time. 12:45. Another time it is. “Fine, but will you please tell me how I can help?”

Amy blinks for a moment, then smiles. The cigarette box and her lighter fall off the covers as she moves closer to Jake, reaching over him to grab the remote.

“We’re watching _Training Day_ ,” she says as she presses play. “I think that’s good enough for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR I WILL REPLY TO ALL OF YOUR REVIEWS. I literally just sent off what seems to be my last college app so to celebrate (because that seems to be a recurring theme with me now) I'm writing more peraltiago. Literally i have no clue what I'm even writing anymore feedback is appreciated (what even is a slow burn romantic arc ???!?!!). 
> 
> Also, I tried to do some research regarding the whole smoking thing to figure out Amy's headspace. It says cigarettes can make you more relaxed so I see Amy as kind of freaking out over realizing her relationship with teddy is getting worse and that she'll have to break it off? I have no idea if that's a valid interpretation especially because I don't actually know any smokers myself. (Which is why this is in Jake's perspective!!!!). Don't get me wrong I adored this episode and how Amy was the one with this particular vice, I just wasn't too sure about the exact specifics. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the story!


	18. cup, the eighteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Jake and...well, Sophia too, after a break up.

It’s been a little more than 24 hours since Amy Santiago dumped Teddy, and she can definitively, definitely say that she’s not okay.

She thinks that it might have been the single most embarrassing episode of her entire life, but then again, probably not. Jake, after all, has forced her into any number of embarrassing episodes that probably trump dumping one’s boyfriend in the middle of dinner in front of one's workplace partner (and Sophia).

Like....that one time Jake pushed Amy into a trash heap behind that Italian restaurant that had been held up by three people all wearing clown costumes. Or the time Gina, Rosa and Charles all pitched in money to sign the pair of them up for couple’s counseling, which Jake and Amy actually did end up attending for the month that had been paid in advance.

(It was not an insignificant amount of cash, and it really did help smooth out certain rough patches in their working relationship. Jake buys her stationary now, and Amy picks up a bag of gummy bears while on her monthly tampon run to CVS.)

Also, that one time she might have liked Jake but was still in a relationship with Teddy and Jake was finally (finally) over Amy and in a good relationship with someone that was absolutely perfect for him, and not at all like the inevitable train wreck he and Amy would have (must have) turned into when both of their stupid hormones and personal intimacy due to a long-term workplace partnership wore off.

Really, horribly embarrassing. Amy can feel the first tendrils of hysteria take root in the back of her throat, the lightheadedness attempt to creep into the forefront of her mind. She gets out of bed, shuffles into her living room and climbs on top of her couch.

Then, she jumps: once, twice, three times before she stumbles a bit and falls off, but still manages to land on her feet. The room is pitch black, Amy’s socks have slipped off her feet at some point, and she can feel anxiety curl around the bones of her ribs like those killer vines she once saw on a nature documentary; the ones that envelop a living, breathing being and _squeeze_ until every last drop of lifeblood has been consumed.

So, maybe she’s feeling a little dramatic, a little like her world is coming to an end. Whatever.

Amy sits down, gets back up again and starts pacing, running through her options one by terrible one.

She could call her parents, or Kylie, or....Gina. Charles. Rosa might come. Terry, if she cried a lot? The Captain? He’s mentoring her, right? Mentors come and comfort mentees, yes?

Amy plops down, feels herself bounce on top of the cushions and puts her head in her hands. It’s Jake, she knows in the pit of her roiling stomach. It was always going to be Jake, even when he’s basically 80 percent of the problem and she really _really_ doesn’t want to look at him right now. She takes a breath before walking back into her bedroom to find a good pair of socks, grabs her coat and keys and gets into her car.

She decides not to think about what she’s doing, which in retrospect isn’t really her greatest decision but whatever, it feels right when she made that decision. Amy makes it to Jake’s apartment in record time and bounds up the steps to knock on the door.

It’s funny, but she assumes that he must be just as awake as she is, that her world can’t be nearly this wonky without it somehow affecting his as well. When Sophia opens the door 142 seconds later, well, Amy didn’t think she could be _more_ embarrassed but here she is anyways. 

It is, according to Amy’s phone, 2:17 the second day after she dumped Teddy, Teddy Wells who accused her of liking Jake Peralta while still in a relationship with him. Jake Peralta, who is in a relationship with Sophia Perez, who is answering Jake’s door at 2:17 in the morning wearing nothing but one of his plaid shirts with one button half-haphazardly shoved into position.

“I....Sophia!” Amy yelpds. “I wasn’t....um...well what are you doing here?”

Amy looks away from Sophia’s vaguely incredulous expression. “I mean...I know what you’re doing here, sorry that was a really stupid question. Is...Jake--”

Jake appears behind Sophia, arm curling around her waist. Amy lingers a little on the way his fingers play with the undone buttons near the bottom of the shirt before looking at the space in between his eyes. She bites her lip, then swallows because this was a terrible decision, and there’s a small piece of her that feels like this one moment is a type of cosmic retribution for everything Jake must have gone through when he still liked her.

Suddenly, she feels a little grateful towards Sophia, because Amy would never want Jake to feel the way she does right now, and if being with Sophia cut that feeling by even one second then everything about this horribly awkward meeting will have been worth it.

“I’m going to leave,” Amy decides to say at last. Jake and Amy have never sent each other away, not in the nine years they’ve been partners, but neither of them could be expected to carry on as usual, not like this.

She turns, takes one step before Jake grabs her wrist. Amy notices vaguely that she seems to have stopped breathing, but it doesn’t seem so important, not when Jake’s fingers are wrapped around her wrist, when his hand is the one point of warmth in her dark, freezing night.

“Come inside Santiago,” he says. “I could drink some chamomile.”   
  
She turns and lets Jake walk her inside his apartment, trailing behind him as they shuffle into his kitchen. She can hear Sophia close and lock the front door while Jake gets out the mugs and the tea bags, fishes the bottle of honey from its proper cupboard and the spoons from the drawer Amy labeled a few months ago.

Amy moves to put the mugs in the microwave after she fills them with water, before glancing at Sophia who’s leaning against the frame of the doorway. Sophia hasn’t said a word since she opened the front door, just watches Jake and Amy navigate their ritual in silence.

Amy Santiago is many things, but she decides that in this she will not be petty so she pulls a mug down and fills it with water, heating all three together.

“Do you like your tea sweet?” she asks Sophia over her shoulder, “I like two spoons in mine, but Jake likes his a little sweeter.” Amy pulls the mugs out and adds the bags.

Sophia blinks, before smiling faintly in response. “Two spoons sounds great,” she says. Amy nods, watching the mugs as the tea steeps, pulling the bags out after a few minutes and stirring the proper amounts of honey into each cup. She tastes Jake’s before adding just a little more and hands the mug to him.

They all move into Jake’s living room, Jake and Amy taking the couch and Sophia in the massage chair. The silence is making them each shift awkwardly at different points, Amy and Jake and Sophia all trying to figure out how to start a conversation with throats that seem to collapse every time they open their mouths. They drink tea, in sips and gulps for a few minutes.

“Break ups suck,” Sophia offers eventually, and Amy nods in gratitude. “Yeah, totally," she says. "I mean it's terrible and awkward, and now I have to go and ask him for my electric toothbrush because--”

“Wait you left your electric toothbrush at his place?” Jake looks outraged.

“I _know_ like honestly I can’t believe I did it, but it was a leap of faith and I just ended up--”

“Crashing into the rocky bottom full speed?”

“Yeah”

Sophia snorts. “A toothbrush?”

Jake and Amy immediately erupt, trying to outshout each other while extolling the virtues of this particular toothbrush, a birthday gift from Jake their third anniversary as partners and that year’s finest model in civilian tooth cleaning technology.

“It’s not just--”

“It was the most amazing toothbrush on the market, and --”

“It had like ten different modes, and like different attachments that --”

A hand is raised, and Amy squirms under Sophia’s gaze. Yes, it was a toothbrush, but it was an _important_ one, and Amy feels really pathetic and sad right now but really it was a really magical toothbrush. (Also a present from Jake but that’s not important, not nearly as important as the ten different modes and five different brush attachments)

“You left a toothbrush like that at your _boyfriend’s_ apartment?” Sophia smiles. “Rookie mistake, Amy.”

Amy really wishes she could hate Sophia, but she can’t. Instead, she kind of hates herself for getting into this mess in the first place.

“I know,” Amy says. “Never again, I swear.” She glances at Jake. “No man could possibly be worth the loss of that toothbrush. I’ll simply have to never sleep at a guy’s place again.”

Sophia nods. “Of course. Sex isn’t worth depriving your teeth of the magic it deserves.”

“Especially with a guy who brews _pilsners_ and wears weird underwear with mesh inside it,” Amy says. Sophia wrinkles her nose. “Weird, right? I never asked him about it. Maybe I should have.”

Jake looks between the two of them and laughs, sliding closer to Amy to sling an arm around her shoulder, tugging Amy down until her head rests against his collarbone.

“Hey,” he whispers. Amy glances up. “You okay?”

Amy looks down and thinks. She cringes every time she thinks about Teddy, but it’s hard to think about Teddy when Jake’s rib cage expands with every breath under her. She can hear Sophia nursing her cup of tea, feel Jake tracing patterns on the fabric covering her shoulder.

“I’m alright,” she says finally. “Been better.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He pauses. “That was pretty embarrassing, wasn’t it.”  

Sophia takes a sharp breath. “Jake--”

Amy cuts her off, and tries not to take any pleasure in it. “Yeah, it was. Super duper embarrassing. The worst, in embarrassing, I think.”

Jake lets out a laugh, and Amy smiles into his shirt. “I’ve gotta up my game then Santiago. Can’t let Mr. Boring be the best at _my_ job.”

“Because serving justice to wrongdoers isn’t enough of a job.”

“Nope. You know you’re my number one.” Jake squeezes her shoulder, and Amy sneaks her hand around his waist.

Amy looks over at Sophia. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off. And I mean you were just trying to--”

Sophia shakes her head, smiling over the rim of her mug. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” She raises an eyebrow at Amy’s guilty expression. “Really. It’s fine.”

Still, Amy feels like she owes her an explanation. “I have anxiety,” she mutters while Jake tightens his grip. “OCD too.”

Sophia nods. Amy can feel Jake clutching her shoulder just this side of uncomfortable. “Anxiety,” he says quietly “Depression.” Sophia hums, sitting for a few minutes before getting out of her chair and grabbing the remote.

“You guys okay with infomercials?” she asks. “We can categorize them by most useful on a deserted island.”

Amy smiles, shifting so that she can see the television. “I’ve always wondered if the Slapchop would be useful on a deserted island, or if it’s just like one of those things you think would work but it’s just too small to actually cut anything and you end up throwing it over a cliff and killing a small animal on accident.”

Jake holds his hand for the remote, grinning when Sophia passes it. “Well,” he says, “we’ll put it at a solid 4 on the scale of ‘waste of time and space’ to ‘jesus literally made this for me to use.’”

Sophia laughs. “The real question is where the Shamwow is on that scale. I feel like we could use it for something, but--”

“You just don’t know what for, right?” It’s a question that’s bothered Amy before.

“Exactly!”

Jake finds the infomercial channel, and they all quiet down to watch a middle aged lady sell them on craft sponges.

“Waste of time and space,” Sophia calls out.

“A five,” Jake says. “I’d take a Slapchop over it, but I could see us using it for like insulation.”

Amy smiles. “Jesus literally made this for me to use,” she says. Jake groans.

“How many times do I have to tell you Santiago,” he whines, “there’s no way you’ll be scrap-booking on the island.”

“I need _some_ entertainment Peralta,” she says in response. “Stop ruining my fun, Jake.”

“Yeah Jake,” Sophia says. “Stop ruining all her fun.”

She can do this, Amy thinks. She’ll figure this thing out.

Jake laughs, and she can feel it vibrate under her cheek.

They’ll be okay, because Amy Santiago can’t imagine a universe where she doesn’t end up in this very spot, watching infomercials with Jake and Sophia. They have to be okay, even if Amy has to surgically remove every possible romantic feeling she’s ever had for Jake with one of the scalpels she knows Rosa keeps in her locker.

Amy doesn’t think she’s strong enough to be anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i have no clue what on earth this is but i love sophia and i wanted to include her somehow. i hope sophia seemed close to her character (i see her as p supportive, if a little weirded out at the beginning when amy shows up in the middle of the night. 
> 
> yay! very angsty but i hope you like it!


	19. cup, the nineteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake doesn't catch Doug Judy. Somehow that translates into Amy waking up in the middle of the night to the sounds of Jake in her apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag for 2x10: The Pontiac Bandit Returns.

Amy isn’t quite sure what time it is when she wakes up to the sound of someone moving inside her apartment. She isn’t wearing her glasses so the alarm clocks she keeps across the room are blurry, and squinting doesn’t seem to do anything to bring the alarm faces into focus. From what she can hear, the person in her living room doesn’t seem to be stealing anything, or at least nothing of great monetary value (she’d be able to hear if they were trying to steal her tv)

She notices that she’s sitting up in bed, so she forces herself back under the covers to think. Someone is apparently in her living room in the middle of the night, but doesn’t seem to be stealing her stuff. Maybe they want to kill her? After all, she _has_ put away some terrible people who might have been nursing a vendetta for years and are now trying to fulfill their dream of total vengence.

It happened to Captain Holt. It could happen to her. She’s badass, after all.

Amy shifts a little and suddenly realizes that her iPhone is wedged underneath her hip. She moves, grabs the phone and presses the home button without really thinking about it, jolting when she notices a string of texts, all of them from Jake.

“ _aaaaaammmyyyyyyyy”_ one reads in a strange mishmash of his usual indecipherable text speak and proper English spelling and grammar when he seems to remember who he’s sending these texts to, “ _i let doug judy gt awwayyy_ ”

“ _ammess y did i do that whyyyyy did i dooo that_ ”

“ _santiagooo y aren’t u responding in my tyme of need santiagoo can i cme ovr?????_ ”

“ _k im here cn u opn the door???”_

_“k im using my key don’t shoot”_

Amy sits up again, and listens to the sounds still coming out of her living room. Now that she’s looking for it, there’s a certain....Jakeness about the movement that she can’t quite describe but recognizes somewhere in her left ventricle. She sighs, scrolls through his texts again and gets up, padding into her living room to see what he could be possibly doing this late at night.

All her lights are on, and Amy squints when she collides with the brightness, bringing her hand up to her forehead while she adjusts. Jake doesn’t comment, and it’s that unexpected silence that strikes Amy as strange, makes her realize that something is wrong.

“Jake?” she asks, staring at her partner, her best friend her---

Her very much in a relationship police colleague, who has currently hijacked her rolling whiteboard as well as her laptop and color printer, and seems to be working on a fairly impressive map of Doug Judy’s potential hideouts.

“Jake,” she says again, making sure not to make it sound like a question. “Jake.” She takes a step forward, before realizing that it might be better to gather reinforcements first. She goes into her kitchen, makes too cups of tea and walks back into her living room, setting the mugs on her coffee table before trying to catch his attention one more time.

“Jake,” she says softly, “hey.”

He bends down, picks something up from a box of case files she hadn’t noticed on the floor next to his feet, looks at the papers inside and frowns, pinning one up near the corner of the whiteboard.

Amy sighs, clenches her jaw and makes her way across the room. “Jake,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He jumps, turning towards her involuntarily. A piece of paper he was about to stick under a magnet falls to the floor, and Amy reminds herself to pick it up later. For now, she brings her tea-warmed hands up from his shoulder to frame his face, and watches him close his eyes to avoid her gaze.

She debates over whether she should make him look at her, face her directly, but figures that would be cruel. Amy sighs, looks at the lines marring Jake’s forehead, the way his ends of his mouth curve downwards, the papers and maps and pictures he’s slapped together, the scrawl that overlaps everything on the whiteboard, the matching ink stains she can see on his right hand.

“Jake,” she says for what she hopes is the last time tonight, “hey.”

“Hi Ames,” he mumbles, and she can feel his jaw moving under her palms “Whatcha doin’?”

“I made tea.” Amy looks to the table, at the mugs waiting for them, and starts rubbing her right thumb across his cheekbone.

This time, she can feel his smile, how it should be manipulating his skin and bone and muscle beyond the ordinary limits of a face, but isn’t. It’s a small smile, a sad smile.

It’s a not-Jake smile, and Amy hates it more than she’s ever hated something that was a part of Jake’s body.

Jake’s leaning into her hands now, but hasn’t moved since she grabbed his face, breathing slowly as Amy tries to figure out her next move. She wants to move them to the couch, but suddenly realizes that the way her living room is oriented would mean that sitting on her sofa would give Jake a direct view towards the whiteboard.

Amy sighs again, bringing her hands down to his shoulders and gripping, urging him to open his eyes without her having to ask. It works, and when he looks down at her, Amy smiles wanly, an unknowing match to his own slight grin from moments before.

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?” she says, laughing when he immediately chimes in with a “title of your sex tape” joke. She points him in the proper direction and collects the mug, pausing just for a moment to catch her breath and realize that she’d just in fact invited the guy she maybe-kind-of-ok-yes liked into her bedroom.

No. Her partner of almost a decade, who used to like her but has definitely gotten over her because she hadn’t been interested and is now with his Perfect Match. Her best friend, who had to let a guy he’d been chasing for years go.

She walks into the room, and sets the mugs down on her bedside table. Jake is standing, looking at the alarm clocks across the room, the old patchwork quilt from her abuela covering her bed, the watercolor paintings of roses and irises she had found cheap at yard sales the summer she’d started living on her own. Amy waits for him to comment, but all he does is walk to the bed and pull down the covers, grabbing a mug and sitting against her headboard before she moves to do the same.

They each take long sips, alternating between staring into the mug and glancing covertly at each other. Amy finishes her cup first, with Jake draining his five minutes later, leaning across her chest to set his mug down on the table.

She turns towards Jake, angles her body in his direction and stares. Jake stares back, and all Amy can think of in that moment is that Modern Love article Kylie had forwarded a few month ago, the one with the questions guaranteed to make a couple fall in love, the one where the couple was supposed to end by gazing into their partner’s eyes for five minutes and fall in love with whatever they could find in the other’s depths.

Of course, Amy’s already fallen mostly in love with Jake: that’s the whole problem, isn’t it?

“Ames?”

Amy blinks, and refocuses on Jake’s face. He’s grinning slightly, sadly, and so she scoots closer to his side of the bed and grabs his hand in hers.

“Mhm?” She starts rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand.

Jake bows his head and watches the way their hands contrast against the bedspread. “I let Doug Judy go,” he whispers.

“You brought down a drug kingpin,” she whispers back.

“He’s on an island.”

“The task force did its job. You’ll probably get a commendation.”

Jake makes a truly horrible face. “For letting Doug Judy go?”

Amy sighs. “The kingpin, Jake. Giggle Pig.”

“Right.” He pauses. “Doug Judy looked really really _reall--_ ”

Amy glances at the clock and realizes that she can’t take this anymore. It is now 4:37 in the morning, and she knows that while Jake and Rosa will have the morning off, she will not. Amy Santiago will be walking into the precinct in less than five hours, and sitting against her headboard with all the lights on certainly won’t help her productivity levels. She gets out of bed, checks all the locks and the stove settings, turns off any remaining lights and gets back into bed, dragging an increasingly confused Jake Peralta down under the covers with her.

“Amy?” He keeps saying her name like a question, and Amy can’t figure out when that happened, when her name became a stand in for confusion, when she became the stand in for an answer whenever Jake didn’t understand the world around him. It’s an idea worth contemplating at another point, preferably when Jake isn’t in the bed next to her.

She can feel that Jake’s gone stiff, that he doesn’t particularly enjoy being caught off guard right now, and so Amy shifts until she’s sprawled on top of him. She places her head somewhere in the hollow of his collarbone, winds her arm around his waist, throws her right leg slightly over his left.

“Amy...” he exhales, and she pretends that she didn’t feel his heart skip a beat

“You’re gonna find him,” she says finally, after a few seconds have passed. She’s closed her eyes and is trying not to memorize every detail about this moment: the softness of his shirt, the body heat he exudes, the careful regulation of his breathing. Amy doesn’t think that Jake’s ever felt so real, so tangible in every single way now that she’s paying attention. She’s always know that he could fill up a room with his presence, but never thought that he could gather inside the cavity of her lungs in the same way.

But it’s late, and Jake is her because Amy is a friend, and Amy understands obsession. She understands the nervous energy, the panic induced nausea, the million different what-ifs, the impossible equations neither of them will ever solve.

She drops a kiss on his chest before she can really think through her actions, ignoring his faint gasp but relishing the way he brings his left arm to rest on her waist. Amy wonders if this might have been how they would have fallen asleep in a different universe, one in which their timing hadn’t been so crappy.

“Rosa’s gonna help, right?” Rosa believes in paying her dues. There’s no way she’s going to let Jake catch Doug Judy without her help. She feels the sound of his murmur in the affirmative underneath her cheek.

“I’ll help too,” Amy promises. “We can talk out some of the basics if you want right now or--” she yawns. Jake laughs, soft but it sounds like Jake and that's all that matters.

“Nah,” he says, turning away from her. Amy freezes until she realizes that he’s still holding onto her right hand, that he’s pulled their clasped hands to rest just below his ribcage. She shifts until her front is plastered against his back. _Spooning_ , a part of her mind screams in triumph-horror, _they are spooning and Jake is the little spoon and Amy is the big spoon and they are spooning and Jake has fallen asleep and....._ ”

Amy takes a deep breath. She counts to ten. She exhales. 

She’ll deal with this in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk im uncertain about this, but im also very tired. i like pining!amy she's fun to write and im kind of sick of pining!dudes. this was kind of fun to write bcause im a terrible person who enjoys angst. i might rewrite this to add more dialogue, but im just sleepy enough to think posting as is is a good idea. feedback is always appreciated! thank you for reading!


	20. cup, the twentieth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy online shop for baby clothes, drink tea, and braid hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag for 2x13: Payback

Jake watches as Amy trudges into the precinct and flops into her chair. Her hair is messy, and the corner of her eyeliner is a little smudgy, so she must be at least a little upset about something.

“What up, Santiago?”

Amy groans, burying her head in her arms. “I’m screwed,” she whimpers, before snapping up. “ _Not_ the title of my sex tape, please and thank you.”

Jake laughs. “Nah, I was thinking more the title of mine.”

Amy wrinkles her forehead. “What did you do?”

Jake bites his lip. “I’m going to be a godfather.” Amy nods, because, obviously she was there when Terry made the announcement, so Jake decides to elaborate. “Me, Jake Peralta, human walking disaster. I’m going to be a godfather. Possibly influencing a small child. Terry’s child.”

Amy’s lips twitch. “You _are_ screwed.” Jake rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the show of support, Ames.”

“Part of being a good partner is knowing each other’s weaknesses, Jake. You’re super screwed.” She looks down, and winces. “Meanwhile, I’m major screwed.”

They both do a quick salute, and Jake looks on as Amy dutifully notes the incident down in her “real life pop culture references” binder. They’re trying to see if they can turn their lives into a network sitcom, and sell it to the highest bidder. (Amy plans to spend her share of the money on a lifetime stash of organizing supplies, while Jake just wants to buy out the entirety of FAO Schwarz)

“You want to talk about it?” Amy shrugs her shoulders, before jumping up.

“Let’s go baby shopping!” she announces. Jake is stunned silent for a moment, blinking, because that is a phrase he never thought he would hear from Amy Santiago. There’s a painful thump somewhere in his chest that he decides is heartburn from the meatball sandwich he had two hours ago, rather than anything....emotional.

“Baby shopping?” he repeats, “Santiago, you _do_  know where babies really come from, right?”

Amy throws a pen, which Jake easily catches in his left hand. “Jerk,” she mutters, gathering her things.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, Aaaameeesssss,” Jake calls out. He stands up, moves to her side of the desk and tries to grab one of her hands. “Hey, Amy, I’m sorry, ok?” Amy freezes, and Jake takes the opportunity to grab her shoulders.

“Amy? You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” She shakes her head, but when she finally looks up, there’s a sheen to her eyes that brings a lump to Jake’s throat. Suddenly Amy’s arms are locked tight around his ribs, squeezing all the air out of his lungs.

“Hey, are you...” Jake sighs, bringing his own arms around Amy and gently rubbing her back. Amy squeezes even tighter, her shoulders shaking slightly as she tries to get herself back under control. Jake reaches up to take her hair out of its ponytail, brushing his fingers in the strands that tumble down around her shoulders.

“Sorry,” she whispers into his collarbone. He can feel Amy opening her mouth again, but she doesn’t say anything else. Jake exhales.

“Amy,” he mumbles against her hairline, “let’s go baby shopping.”

He can feel her smile, and her grip loosens slightly. “I’m going to make some tea to take in our travel mugs,” she says as she finally lets go.

Jake nods, and collects both of their paperwork and drops them on Terry’s desk.

He’s got both of their jackets slung over his arm when Amy walks out carrying two mugs. They walk out of the precinct, towards where Amy’s car is parked. She turns towards Jake for a moment, before unlocking the doors and sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Are you going to buy a new car?” she asks as Jake puts on his seatbelt. Jake shakes his head as they pull out of the parking lot.

“Nah. I’ll just take the subway for a while.”

Amy nods. “If you need a ride, I’ll come pick you up.” Jake smiles.

A few minutes later, Jake realizes that he doesn’t actually know where to buy baby stuff, or really what baby stuff even is. “Hey, Amy, where are we going?”

Amy stiffens. “I don’t know,” she says, “where do you buy baby stuff?”

“Why do you think I know?”

“You’re going to be godfather!”

“You’re already an aunt!”

“A bad one!”

Jake groans. “So, we don’t know what to buy, or where to buy it. Great work, team.” He glances at Amy, notices her hands trembling on the steering wheel and immediately changes track. “Buuuuut, we can google it!” Jake claps his hands. “New plan, Ames! Let’s go to my place and internet shop!”

Amy blinks, and then she starts to smile. “Okay,” she says, and Jake tries not to feel like a million bucks.

They pull up in front of his apartment, walking inside and settling on his couch. Amy goes and gets her laptop, while Jake transfers the coldish tea into their usual mugs and reheats them in the microwave.

“So,” Amy says when he comes back, “are we looking useful, ridiculous....”

“Gender neutral,” Jake says, “and like...responsible ridiculous. Nothing too useful, but not like it's a joke, you know?”

“Not really,” Amy says, biting her lip, “but I guess you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Like porn!” they say at the same time.

“Is that really appropriate when talking about baby stuff,” Amy asks while taking a sip. Jake shrugs, because he’s never really worried about being appropriate. That’s what he has Amy and Captain Holt for.

They find a few stores and look through the clothing selection first, which all seem kind of terrible when they go to the gender neutral section.

“Doesn’t white get messy?” Jake asks, and Amy’s shout of “yes” echoes a bit against his walls. She blushes, but doesn’t say anything more as she clicks on the “girls” section.

It takes them both approximately four seconds to adjust for the explosion of pink, and eight more before they leave the page in disgust.

“Not functional at all,” Amy mutters under her breath.

“Expensive,” Jake mumbles. He nudges Amy’s shoulder. “Super forced gender roles, though. Those poor babies don’t stand a chance when they’re indoctrinated by the system so young”

Amy laughs. “Gina teach you that?” Jake sticks out his tongue. “Actually, Detective Santiago, the last prostitute I brought in was a gender studies major at NYU. We had an excellent conversation before I let her off with a warning.”

“Oh yeah, I remember her. She showed me how to test foundation against my jaw line, instead of my arm.”

“Oh my god Santiago have you been testing your foundation against your arm? How could you!”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Peralta.”

Jake smirks, and takes a sip of tea. “You’re just jealous I’m better at makeup than you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” Jake laughs, “but it’s totally fine. I _am_ the best, at everything.”

“I poisoned the Captain.”

Jake’s mouth opens, but he can’t force any sound out of his throat. He splutters, hands opening and closing around thin air. “You _what_?”

“We were working that case together, you know the one I found while --”

“Scrapbooking his career, yeah--”

“So I bought some street meat and--”

“Nooooooooooooooooooo”

Amy takes a sip of her tea. Jake reexamines the woman sitting next to him, noticing subtle signs of her distress. He knew she was upset, but didn’t possibly think it could have been for something like this. Street meat, Jesus Christ.

“You’re kind of the worst, at everything,” he says finally. Amy groans, throwing back the last swallow of liquid in her cup. She looks miserable.

“Come here,” Jake says, moving to the far side of the couch. Amy flops onto her side, extending until her head is in his lap, hair covering her face so that she doesn’t have to look at him. Jake starts braiding a small strand, twisting clumps of hair together until he figures out what he can possibly say to make her feel better.

“Was Holt angry?” he settles on. Amy hums. “Yeah, but not anymore. We caught the bad guy.” She smiles, faintly. “And Holt says it could be a bonding experience!”

“That’s awesome,” Jake says as he moves on to a separate section of hair. “So what’s the problem?”   
  
“I don’t know,” Amy replies, “It’s just....I tried to make it cool, and everything backfired. LIke usual.”

“Turned out okay,” is all Jake can say. Because “I tried to make it cool and everything backfired” is probably the _actual_ title of Amy Santiago’s sex tape, and there’s no way to get around it. He usually thinks of his plans on the spot, so he doesn’t mind when they go wrong. Amy plans in advance, and in horrible tiny detail, so it's a bigger deal when everything goes to hell.

“I guess I’m just angry that I can’t do anything to fix it, you know?” Amy’s voice wavers softly. “My backup plans never cover the disasters that actually end up happening.”

“Giving Holt food poisoning isn’t a disaster, Ames”

“For you, maybe. He threw up, Jake. It was super gross.”

Jake starts on braid number three. “Yeah, but now you get this super sick bonding experience, literally! A few years down the road, you and the Captain will be out to like, nerd brunch, and you’ll kick back and laugh about the time you poisoned him.”

Amy turns her head towards him and grins. “Captain Holt said the same thing.”

Half her hair is braided, and little bits and pieces of her layers are poking out. If Amy’s ever looked more adorable, Jake can’t remember. He brushes a strand off her forehead and hooks it behind her ear.

“Well then, you should probably listen to us. We’re both amazing detectives/geniuses, remember?”

Amy scoffs. “What I remember was the insane amount of help each of you needed from the squad in order to win. _You_ got our help and lost anyway.”

“I was set up!”

“Excuses, excuses,” Amy shakes her head. One of the braids falls apart. “Where would you even be without me?”

Jake has a few responses. Surprisingly, the one that comes out is “I don’t know.”

Amy looks surprised, before her face softens. She turns back away from him, nuzzling into his lap as she brings his left hand back into her hair.

“You know, Peralta,” she mutters to the fabric of his jeans just loud enough for Jake to hear, “I think you’ll be a great godfather.”

Jake goes back to fixing the braid that has fallen out. Right, left, middle. Right, left, middle.

“Thanks, Santiago,” he whispers.

“Anytime,” she whispers back.

He starts a new braid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ha HA lol ok no excuses. I hope you enjoyed this, though if you didn't I'd super appreciate it if you could leave a review so i can fix it. i felt rusty, so idk if that translated into the work as well. if you liked it, i'd love if you could leave a review as well!!!
> 
> next: Jake breaks up with Sophia! HELLO ANGST CITY OH HOW IVE MISSED YOU !!!!! !!! ! ! 
> 
> (there's 5 or 6 chapters left of season 2 if anyone was wondering) 
> 
> Thank you so much with everyone who continues to stick with this! I love you all very much!!!


	21. cup, the twenty-first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Sophia are no more. Clearly, now is the best time to play Truth or Truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag for 2x14: The Defense Rests

“Hey Amy...”

“Ames”

“Aaaaammmyyyyyyy...”

Amy sighs, turns her head and raises her eyebrow at Jake, who’s sitting sprawled out in her passenger seat, so drunk in the immediate aftermath of the night’s events that he needs to lean against the window. Sophia broke up with Jake today, and so Amy has decided to take him back to her apartment to sleep off the alcohol. The fact that she wants to climb him like a tree has nothing to do with said choice.

“What, Jake?”

He giggles, sound slightly tinged with hysteria. “Truth or Truth?”

She blinks. “What?”

“Truth or Truth!!” Amy furrows her eyebrows, so Jake rolls his eyes, movement over exaggerated as he huffs, trying and failing to cross his arms. “It’s like Truth or Dare except just...Truth or Truth!”

“And...this is a...game that people play?” Amy’s hesitant, because she hasn’t really heard of it, but Jake knows a lot more young people than she does. She hasn’t even listened to rap music in three years.

Jake giggles again, this time pure and bright, and Amy tries not to melt a little. Or videotape it for posterity and her Snapchat story.

“No, silly! It’s a game I made up r i ght now!!”

“Oh.”

Jake purses his lips, and Amy has to stop herself from doing something stupid, like kissing him. “Weeeelllll actually maybe not right now... I feel like Gina made me do it...... like ten years ago? She was traveling, you know? And, and like after that she came home and made me play. She said she needed to know all my secrets. To check up on me.” Jake blinks slowly, and Amy tries to divert her focus from the contrast of his eyelashes against his skin. “Also, for blackmail.”

“...Oh.” That..actually sounds exactly like Gina. Jake nods, grin loose with alcohol.

“So Detective Amy Santiago, Truth or Truth?”

Amy sighs, and turns onto her street. “Truth.”

“What....isss..... your favorite color?”

Amy’s forehead furrows again. Alcohol doesn’t usually mess with Jake’s memory like this, but maybe there was something in the vodka he drank with Rosa. “Blue, you know this!”

Jake raises an eyebrow, or at least tries his very best to do so. “Your _real_ favorite color A-my.... I don’t want the one you use on those profile thingys....the match.com color, no.”

“I do not--” Jake’s eyebrows raise again, eyes bugging out at the effort. Amy sighs, wondering about the likelihood of him being too drunk to remember any of this later.

There’s a (very small) part of her that is intensely happy that Jake and Sophia are no longer a couple, the same part that keeps mentioning how soft Jake’s hair is, or how nice it would be to kiss him, or how pretty his eyes are under the lights of the precinct.

Playing this game, she decides, might be a form of penance for her transgressions.

“Yellow,” she whispers under her breath, because yellow is bright and happy and kind and absolutely unprofessional. Jake smiles slow and sincere, brilliant against the shadows and the street lamps and the heartbreak etched into the creases of his eyes.

Amy forgets how to breathe.

“I knew it,” he says quietly -- _sweetly_ , her stupid brain supplies.

She gets out of the car, and takes a deep breath.

 _You lost your chance_ , she tells herself, _and now he’s moved on_.

“It’s over,” she whispers, moves to open the passenger side door and leans over Jake to unbuckle his seat belt. She only sniffs once, but that's only because respiration is a natural part of being alive, and not because she likes the smell of the cologne he wears on special occasions.

_Like fancy defense lawyer parties someone attends to make his girlfriend happy, except happiness doesn't come and said girlfriends end up dumping said someone, and everything seems to kind of suck._

“C’mon Jake, don’t make me carry you. I can do it, but I really don’t want to.”

He looks up at her. His brown eyes are absurdly wide in the light from the streetlamp. “Can we..” he shifts, biting his lip. “Can we drink some chamomile tea?”

Suddenly, Amy has to swallow against a lump in her throat, blink back the threat of tears in the corners of her eyes. “Yes, of course,” she manages to get out, and hopes he doesn’t notice the slight rasp of her voice. “C’mon.”

He smiles and gets out of the car, slowly ambling up the steps and waiting patiently for Amy to open the door.

“Truth or Truth,” he asks as she unlocks the door.

Amy smiles, despite herself. “Isn’t it my turn now?”

Jake’s lips turn down as he brings his hand up to brush his hair out of his face. Amy looks away, ashamed of her body’s reaction to the obviously painful break up of a dear friend.

“Do you...have a question?”

_Do you think you could maybe like me romantic stylez? Like, in the future?_

“...No.”

“Uh-huh.” Jake nods confidently at the door before walking inside the apartment and flopping on the couch like he owns it, taking the blanket to cover himself head to toe. He groans, deeply, and Amy walks into the kitchen before she does something embarrassing, like fluff his hair.

The thing about Jake, she’s realized, is that they’ve known each other so long that the romantic and the platonic and just the downright sexual have all mingled into an incredibly frustrating vat of tension. Her sympathy for Jake all those months ago has skyrocketed since she realized that she, too, liked him romantic stylez.

She wants to kiss him, which is new. But also cuddle with him and eat dinner and take walks and watch movies and sleep beside him, all of which she’s done before, though some with more regularity than others.

The sound of Jake turning on the tv jolts Amy back to the present, and the reality that Jake isn’t really in shape to do anything beyond wallowing tonight. She looks out into the living room and finds him flipping through the channels with the volume off, sock clad feet curled against him as he lies sideways in an almost fetal position, protective without even realizing.

Jake catches her looking and raises his head, waving the remote. “Infomercials, good for heartbrokeners,” he says with what she thinks is supposed to be irony in his voice. Mostly, it just sounds sad. He pauses, confused at the way his words have abandoned him. “Brokenhearters.” He shakes his head with exasperation, flapping the hand with the remote vaguely. “Sad people, you get it.”

Amy nods, and walks back into the kitchen, determined to make the best, most comforting cup of tea she can manage. She finds their mugs and goes to fill them with water before she shakes her head and gets out a kettle she’d bought years ago. Then, she realizes that she has no idea what to do with a kettle, has never seen one in use outside of British television, so she has to google some instructions.

A few minutes later, Amy fills it with water just like the WikiHow pictures and puts it on the stove, waiting patiently for it to boil. She doesn’t know if a kettle will make any difference with herbal tea, but even if it tastes slightly better, it will have been worth it. She reads the back of the chamomile tea box for the first time in years, to remind herself of the optimal amount of time needed for steeping. She measures the honey carefully, stirring and tasting over and over again until it’s exactly too sweet, just how he likes it.

Amy Santiago is not always good with emotions, and yes, she like-likes Jake. She might not know what to say, or how to act, but this she can do: it might take her a half-hour, but she can make him a perfect cup of chamomile tea, and listen.

Amy walks into the living room, holding the mugs in each hand.

“Truth or Truth?” Jake asks as she approaches to the sofa, the thirty minute respite granting him something closer to some passing form of sobriety. He’s gotten quieter, she realizes, the bluntness of the alcohol fading and leaving just the pain in its place. Amy passes him his mug and sits down next to him, close enough that their shoulders touch.

She takes a breath, swallows some tea. “Truth,” she says finally, both of them staring at the infomercials playing on mute in front of them.

“Favorite holiday?”

“Christmas. You?”

“July 4th.” Jake closes his eyes, lips turned up slightly as both hands clasp the mug. “Mom and Gina and Darlene and me would all sit on of the roof and watch the fireworks after some barbeque. Gina always wore these really horrible patriotically themed sparkle dresses.” He opens his eyes and grins, lazy and mischievous. “Also, it’s Captain America’s birthday.”

He’s stalling, at least that much she can tell. There’s a certain depth to the back of his eyes that means Jake is calculating the situation, mind whirring in the background as he runs his mouth for time.

Usually, he saves the rambling and diversions for suspects he’s trying to outmaneuver, but he does it unconsciously when he’s avoiding his emotions. But all these years of dealing with Jake means Amy knows when to push and when to back off and when to just ride the strange tangents he uses to eventually get to the point. She takes the bait. “Steve Rogers or...”

Jake grins, turning slightly towards her. “Yeah, Steve. I mean it was obviously propaganda on the writer’s part but it’s just supposed to be coincidence for the character.”

“Or ‘divine providence’”

“Or that, yeah.”

A comfortable type of silence begins to settle between them, as they each sip at their tea. Time passes fluidly, and Amy is content to watch the middle-age actor washouts on screen until Jake wants to make a move. Eventually, whether consciously or not, Jake moves closer and Amy resists the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. A few months back, when each of them were safely in a relationship, she might have been able to take the liberty but now? She isn’t sure. She errs on the side of safety.

They each take a breath. Amy can see him from the corner of her eye, and takes note of the slight slump in his shoulders, the way his lips are turned down as he stares blankly at the craft sponges on her television screen.

“Truth or Truth,” Amy asks after a minute or twenty. She can hear him jump, startled at the sound of her voice, before he turns to look at her speculatively

“Truth, I guess,” he says softly.

“Favorite Taylor Swift song?”

“We Are Never Getting--”

“For real, Jake.” She gestures with her mug. “I told you my favorite color.”

A sigh. “Love Story,” he mumbles a moment later, leaning slightly in her direction. They’re like sunflowers, Amy realizes, the two of them. Each gravitating towards the light offered by the other.

“I knew it,” she says smirking in triumph, “you’re such a romantic.”

Suddenly, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Amy doesn’t know if she’s ever regretted saying something quite as much as she does right now.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, “I didn’t mean--”

“Truth or Truth, Santiago?” His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over nails, low and frayed all over. Amy flinches.

Her anxiety is starting to build, her throat closing and her stomach upending, every atom of her entire body clenching, because she has no idea where Jake’s headed, what he could possibly mean by--

Jake’s hand reaches across the space between them, tangling his fingers with hers and squeezing, almost as an afterthought as he asks again, softly: “Truth or Truth, Ames?”

Her anxiety dissipates, a little. She stares down at their hands together, and takes some time to admire the shape of his fingers, his nails, the contrast of their skin tones.

“Truth.”

“You ever been in love?” Jake isn’t looking at her when he asks, but she can see the stiffness of his shoulders, the urgency of his question in the way his thumb rubs against the back of her hand over and over.

_With you, I’m sure I could be._

Her entire body tightens again, and she’s sure the inside of her stomach has corroded from the acidity of her anxiety. Jake lets go so that she can scoot to the far side of the couch, where he won’t be able to feel how her body gives her away.

“Why?” she asks, keeping the tremors out of her voice.

Jake looks at her, head cocked slightly to the side as he furrows his brow. He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes, fingers twitching as he swallows. It’s a perfectly reasonable question for her to ask, but there’s something in Jake’s eyes that makes Amy think she’s miscalculated somehow, that he’s the one supposed to be confessing, not her.

She watches him glare at his hands, jaw clenched, and realizes that it doesn’t matter anymore. Amy doesn’t know what Jake wants from her, but she owes it to their friendship, to everything he’s come to mean to her, to help him when she can.

“I don’t know,” she says, looking away. “I’ve certainly told people that I was, and I did think I was in love with them at the time, but I’m not sure anymore.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, and suddenly there’s an intensity that sucks all the air out of the room. He turns towards her, and for a moment all Amy can think of is the course in body language she took in college, how feet pointed towards someone meant that they were the person’s object of attraction. 

Amy looks up, and is shocked by the desperation in his eyes, a need to understand that’s bleeding out of him as he leans forward.

She blushes as she tries to elaborate. “I just, I used to think that love was just a byproduct of like...suitability?” She flails a little, and watches as Jake smothers a smile, intensity slightly dimmed just long enough for her to gather her thoughts. “Like two like minded people making it work and just that warm feeling as you move together and it’s just like...stable. Everything is normal, and it all works and....I don’t know.”

She isn’t quite sure how to express the difference, except to compare Teddy and Jake: both people she was comfortable with, but..

“It’s a together thing, you know? Like..” she sighs, because it really is best to use an example, “with...Teddy...he and I were together because we were similar in a lot of ways, and we were suitable and that was fine, you know? But we never really went forward, because we were really comfortable in the place we were, and....”

Amy’s never really thought about why she and Teddy didn’t work out, mainly because she’s tried to blot out the memory of its end. If asked, she’s mainly defaulted to the pilsners and the weird mesh underwear, but now she feels like there’s a kind of revelation waiting for her if she really thinks about it.

“I told Sophia I loved her, tonight,” Jake says matter-of-factly, brokenly. Amy’s eyes widen. She can think about Teddy later.

“Oh,” she says, because she can’t really think of anything else to say. Jake nods.

“It’s just, we were working out so well!” Jake breaks off, mouth twisting wryly, as his eyes flash. His hands come up to cover his face. “Or at least I thought so.”

“I thought so too,” Amy offers in consolation, moving back towards Jake. His head, still hidden in his palms, bows until he’s balanced his elbows on his lap.

“She said she didn’t love me back, which kind of sucked.” Amy wrinkles her nose in sympathy, hand tentatively reaching out to hover over his shoulder.

Then, in a softer voice, his voice cracks. “I don’t know what to do, Ames.”

Her heart strains against his pain, as she bites her lip. It feels like there are a million things she should be saying right now, a million ways to reassure one of her best friends that he deserves to be loved. That he is, by so many different people.

Instead, her hand lowers onto his shoulder, squeezing at his sharp inhalation.

“There’s some orange soda in the pantry,” she says after a while. Jake doesn’t say anything in response, but he also hasn’t shrugged off her hand which she decides to take as a good sign.

“You’re a good guy, Jake,” she murmurs into the room eventually, vaguely stroking at the seam of his shirt. “You’ll find someone. I’ll make a list.”

“I’m sure you will,” Jake smiles, eyes glassy but bright as finally bring his head up. Amy’s hand falls uselessly back at her side. She wants to bring it back up, her fingers can almost still feel the fabric of his shirt and the muscle of his shoulder, but instead, she scoots just slightly closer. An invitation.

Jake scoots closer still, until their arms and legs touch, forming a seam of their own. She glances out of the corner of her eye again, and assesses. There’s still a weight to Jake, something bringing down his lips and his eyes and even bits of his hair. He’s still slumping, a little.

But he’s leaning. Almost imperceptibly, he’s leaning into Amy, just as she is into him.

He’s going to be okay, she realizes for the first time that night. Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, or even next month, but Jake’s going to be okay because they’re going to get through this together, and their partnership has never yielded anything but excellent results. If Amy was more alert, she thinks she might be able to verbalize that idea from before, about love and comfort and stability. Something about jigsaw pieces, maybe.

“We should do a puzzle tomorrow,” she mumbles, suddenly exhausted, as her head leans onto his shoulder. “I have a new one with 500 pieces that makes a really nice Picasso.”

“Picasso’s the guy with the weird faces?”

Amy nods. “And the blue, and the squares. I love him.” she pauses, deliberates about whether she should vocalize her next thought. She does. “He’s gooood shit, Jake. High quality.”

Jake’s entire body spasms, briefly. “Go to sleep, Amy” he says, voice trembling with laughter.

She does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not even going to apologize, but i want to reassure anyone who needs reassuring that i will definitely finish this. it might take....a long time....but it will happen.
> 
> SHOUTOUT TO PHILTHESTONE FOR READING THIS AND GIVING ME SUCH USEFUL ADVICE THIS IS 200% BETTER FOR HER HAVING READ IT IN ADVANCE. (phil if u have more suggestions send them my way) 
> 
> also! i have no experience with...basically anything i just wrote about so if you have any criticism about characterization, drunkenness, broken-heartedness or how to properly use a kettle, i would love to hear from you and possibly (probably) alter this based on your suggestions! this could use some work I'm guessing bc i am rusty as hell and haven't written angst in so long ( so long). 
> 
> thank you for reading, i really really (really really) appreciate all of you. i'd love to get your thoughts on this or the series or anything at all so leave a comment!! (I'm going to go and respond in the next week to every single comment I've gotten and not replied to i promise) 
> 
> i hope you liked this!!


	22. cup, the twenty second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Lynn and Darlene get hitched, Jake and Amy talk about weddings. Also, Jake kind of not really sort of likes Amy again. It's maybe kind of an issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag to ep 2x17: Boyle Linetti Wedding

Jake wakes up sometime in the middle of the night to the feeling of Amy’s body stiffening next to his. He keeps his eyes closed as he tries to remember how he got here. 

_ The Wedding _ , he thinks,  _ we came here after the wedding.  _ Here apparently being his apartment, where they ended up crashing on his couch still in their fancy clothes.

Amy inhales, and suddenly Jake can feel every single line of her body that touches his. He can feel the curve of her hip underneath his left hand, smell the flowers of her shampoo from the hair spread out against the pillow theyre sharing. He can feel her breath against his lips, and knows that she is far too close. Amy’s body is warm and achingly solid against his, and when his arm moves against his will to pull her closer she shifts willingly, bringing their chests together in a move that snatches the breath from Jake’s lungs. 

He opens his eyes, and realizes that they forgot to turn off the lights. Like this, he realizes that he can see each of her individual eyelashes, flaring out against her cheekbones. He can see the delicate arch of her eyebrows, and the places Gina filled them in with powder to make them stand out. Jake doesn’t remember the last time he was this close to Amy, when he was allowed to notice the casual imperfections of her skin, or the way her lips weren’t quite even underneath the lipstick Gina used. If he leaned in just a little closer, he might even be able to kiss--

He jolts, the force of it waking Amy, her eyes wide as she notices the position they were in. Jake hasn’t thought like this since he got over Amy, hasn’t had to stifle the urge to kiss her for months and months, and now suddenly....what? 

Does he  _ like  _ her?  _ Again _ ? 

Amy’s always been fast to wake up -- once she told him it was a skill she’d honed from living with all those brothers, some who had a fondness for midnight pranks. Within moments she’s in complete control of her limbs, edging quickly to the other end of the sofa and smoothing down the part of her skirt that’s ridden up. Jake looks down at his right hand, the one he knows was curled around her hip thirty seconds ago, and imagines that he can still feel her warmth. 

He clears his throat, because he’s  _ over  _ this now. They both are. He liked Amy and then he liked Sophia, and at some point Amy liked him and now neither of them like each other because all of that messiness is in the past and it’s over. It’s over over over and now they can be friends again without all the awkwardness of the last year. 

The corner of Amy’s lipstick, the bright magenta he’d touched up for her after an hour of dancing, has smudged slightly. For a moment, Jake wants nothing more than to raise his hand, the one that had been touching Amy before, and smooth the color back into place. 

He closes his eyes, breathes, and opens them again. It’s been months -- obviously it’s just the wine, and the beautiful dress Amy’s still wearing. Her eyebrows, too. She must have had them done for the occasion. 

“Nice wedding, right?” he asks because the silence is getting kind of weird and that feels like something people talk about after a wedding. He’s watched movies. It’s not awkward at all, nope. Nothing here, no feelings to be crushed, been there done that, didn’t have the greatest time. She’s over him, anyways. 

Amy smiles, and even if the smile seems a little nervous, Jake kind of feels lighter despite himself. “It wasn’t really like the weddings I’ve been to, but it was nice, yeah.” 

“What,” Jake snorts, ”you’ve never seen the officiant compare marriage to a bowl of oatmeal before?” 

“I thought Captain Holt’s speech was very touching, Peralta.” 

“I wouldn’t know, would I? I’ve never even had oatmeal before!” 

Amy shakes her head, barely smothering a grin with her look of disapproval. “......Disgusting.” 

“Oatmeal? I’ve heard it is, yes.” 

They laugh, each moving a little closer to each other on the couch as Amy grabs the remote and flips through the channels in search of something watchable. 

“Are you thirsty?” Amy asks absently, trying to choose between an episode of  _ The Twilight Zone _ and  _ Chopped _ . 

“Sure,” he says, taking the remote as she gets up. He doesn’t really like either show but at least he’ll learn a recipe or two from  _ Chopped _ . Maybe. He can hear Amy opening drawers, pulling out their mugs and filling them up with water. It’s familiar, the sound, and Jake listens for the steps he has memorized. 

She opens the microwave door, and Jake knows that she’ll set the timer for two minutes exactly with both mugs in. He knows the routine calms her, but he’d never realized that it steadies him, too. He takes a breath and remembers that he and Amy are friends before anything else, and that he cares more about their routines than how much he might want to kiss her. Especially since it isn’t very likely that she’ll want to kiss him back. 

_ Chopped _ is down to the dessert round by the time Amy walks in with the tea, and Jake can’t tell which one of the horrible contestants he wants to lose more. He takes a sip and smiles, choosing to focus on the warmth as it travels down his throat rather than how his stomach dropped when their fingers touched when she handed him the mug. 

_ She’s over me, she’s over me, she’s over me _ , Jake repeats to himself. 

He notices Amy watching him and sticks out his tongue because he can, and it’s 4:30 in the morning. She snorts and takes a sip from her own cup. 

The timer goes off on screen, and the contestants have to bring their desserts up to the table for judgement. Amy makes a face, and Jake’s mind registers the way she’s leaned her elbow against the armrest.

“I always watch shows like this and it’s like.... I could make that...”

“But you can’t.”

Amy shakes her head in defeat. “I really, really can’t.” 

Jake flips to HGTV when the episode ends and they watch a married couple decide on their first house. The couple looks to be about his age, maybe a year or two older. They’re still holding hands in their three months later shot, glancing at each other out of their corner of their eyes. They look happy, he thinks, and a part of him is glad. 

He thinks about Lynn Boyle, who’s been married five times but still thinks that Darlene’s the one. His Nana, who married for love and died thirty years after the cardiac arrest that split them apart. Darlene, who always told Jake that true love was out there, even if her first husband was an asshole who never paid child support. His mother, the most wonderful woman he knows, cheated on by her husband. He thinks about Sophia for a moment, but he never really was in love with her. Not like that. 

“Do you think you’ll ever get married?” he blurts out, before he can really think about what he just said. It’s something he never really thought about until this last year, when he’d finally met some people he thought were worth the thinking. 

Amy blinks, mug rising automatically to her lips. She takes a sip, closing her eyes as she swallows. 

“Why?” she asks first, and Jake hates that she sounds nervous. 

“Eh,” Jake responds, vaguely.  Suddenly, he’s not quite sure what to say, or where was going to take this. He thinks he wants to talk about it, but he isn’t really sure what  _ it  _ is -- and besides, Amy definitely isn’t the right person, especially now that he can’t take his eyes off of the waves in her stupid hair, but he can’t think of anyone else he’d rather talk to.

“Yeah,” she says, and for some reason she sounds like she’s lost something, “I have.” 

Jake nods, waiting for her to elaborate. He watches as she bites her lip, eyes still focused on the liquid inside her mug. She sighs. 

“My parents are married, and they love each other so much, and...my family is really big so I’ve been to a lot of weddings.” She’s avoiding having to look at him but she smiles wide into her mug and Jake can feel his own heartbeat. “I love weddings, they’re just so full of happy things, you know?”

Jake doesn’t know what to say in response. Outside of Captain Holt and Kevin, Terry and Sharon, and maybe Amy’s parents, he doesn’t really know a lot of happily married couples. Weddings don’t seem like much more than a waste of money, really, and not even because he happens to be in Crushing Debt.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says instead, “This is the first wedding I’ve ever been to.” It’s true, at least. 

Amy turns away from the screen so fast he’s worried her tea will spill out of her mug. 

“What do you mean that was your first wedding?!” Amy almost looks offended, eyebrows scrunched together, which is what makes Jake dissolve into laughter. He shrugs, snickering. “How could  _ that  _ possibly be your first wedding?” she asks again. 

“What do you mean by  _ that _ ,” he asks, because there’s a weird charge in the air he wants to get rid of. And also, he kind of wants Amy to try and describe a Gina Linetti wedding in words. “I thought it was a perfectly lovely, tasteful function.” 

Amy groans, “It was lovely,” she agrees. “They both seem to love each other a lot, and it showed. But...” she falters, blushing. Jake forces away the thought of how nice the pink looks against her skin. 

_ She’s over me _ ! he screams in his head, and really it’s getting kind of old.

“It was a Gina wedding,” Jake finishes, to put them both out of her misery. “It wasn’t really going to be anything else.”    
  
“Which is fine! Great even,” Amy says, raising her arms as punctuation, “but that can’t be your only wedding experience.” 

Jake snorts, taking his mug and sipping. “Well it was,” he says after he swallows. “Sorry Ames!” 

That charge is still there, even if it’s a little less strange than it was a minute ago, and Jake realizes that he’s been feeling it all day. He can’t really put his finger on it, but it’s well, expectant, maybe? But he doesn’t know of what. Amy said that she was over Jake, that it was all in the past, and Jake has to believe her, because if maybe she wasn’t actually over him....

Jake decides to ignore this, because that’s always worked out well for him. 

They watch half an episode of  _ House Hunters International  _ in a sort of comfortable silence before Amy speaks again, over the couple’s deliberations about House One over House Three. 

“It’s just...I love weddings,” she says softly, furtively, her eyes lowered, and Jake can’t remember her acting like this before. “I love that they’re always happy and bright and joyful, and I love that everyone comes to watch people they care about tell the entire world that they love someone else, and they’re always so beautiful.” 

She sits up a little and twists her thumb, and even amongst the tinge of embarrassment she’s still smiling faintly, and Jake feels something in him loosen. “Weddings remind me that we can be happy, even if things don’t work out. It’s always one happy moment that no one can ever take away.” Amy looks at him from the corner of her eye. 

There’s something spreading inside Jake that he remembers from all those months ago, when he could spend an entire day powered by the way she’d thanked him for morning coffee. He looks at Amy, all beautiful eyes and nose and a bashful smile that he wants to keep safe inside his pocket. He thinks about what would happen if Amy wasn’t over him. If, in fact, they maybe actually liked each other. 

“That’s really sweet,” he mumbles, a little star struck, and Jake swears he likes Amy so much in that moment he could almost burst from the warmth underneath his skin. “I’d never thought about weddings like that.” 

Amy looks away, blush staining her cheeks again as she focuses on House Hunters. Within moments, her mouth falls open and she’s started to yell. 

“It was out of your price range,” she’s whisper-shrieking, and Jake laughs because he wants this too. Her hair is down and around her face, her mascara a little clumpy, her lipstick a little smudged. 

He drains the last of his tea and sets the mug on the ground, smirking as she changes the channel out of pure spite. Amy glares. He allows himself to think she’s beautiful. 

“They were  _ irresponsible _ , Jake. They have a three children to think of. College prices are only going up!” 

_ Maybe _ , he thinks.  _ Maybe we can try again _ . 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L O L HI GUYS!!! THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED to tumblr user heylookadagger who made a perfect wonderful playlist a few months ago for this fanfiction and you can find it at this link: http://8tracks.com/stargirlmolly/two-perfect-cups-of-chamomile-tea
> 
> Also, this chapter is dedicated to all the people who bugged me and commented and said they liked this and that they wanted to read more. every single comment was treasured wept slightly over and motivated me to write another paragraph. i love and treasure you all very much. 
> 
> AND FINALLY: ID LIKE TO THANK MY BUDDY PHIL, who once again came in clutch and helped me figure out the pacing and convinced me to add way more pining!jake. she's an international treasure, is all i can really say. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this! i'd love it if you could comment, it really makes my day. thank you so much for reading!!!! :) <3


	23. cup, the twenty third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger might be gone, but Amy's always there to play some catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag 2x18: Captain Peralta

Amy knocks on Jake’s door one week after the whole thing with Roger goes down — one week of Jake getting to work early and leaving late, of staining his clothes with ketchup and avoiding all possible conversation. Jake announces on Monday that he’s decided to tackle some of the cold cases, and everyone lets him because they aren’t quite sure how to deal with what they know happened with Roger. 

The thing is, Amy’s always had a good relationship with her family. Knowing that Jake’s own father could treat him like garbage infuriates her, but she knows Jake doesn’t deal well with anger, especially when it’s on his behalf. She wants to cry, but knows that he would focus on how bad she was feeling rather than open up about himself. Amy doesn’t know how to react in a way that wouldn’t make this worse, and so she chooses not to act at all, watching with ever increasing guilt as Jake silently attacks case after case without more than a nod when she walks in and out for the day. 

She’d need to help even if she didn’t, you know,  _ like  _ him, but her attraction just makes her pick up on minor things she would have glossed over. Amy notices the way his fingers tremble sometimes, or how he bites his lip when he checks his phone instinctively, gritting his teeth when he deliberately shoves it back into his pocket. She can’t help but notice the slight hunch to his shoulders, and the bags he’s collecting under his eyes. 

Amy needs to help, somehow, even if she’s has no idea how to start. But Jake will understand that she’s just trying to help, right? He always does. 

She gets Gina to change their schedules so that they both have the next Saturday off and shows up at his apartment bright and early at 9 am with her old softball glove, one ball and a two thermoses of chamomile tea. 

He opens the door after a minute, and Amy grins at how disheveled he looks. He’s wearing his oldest pajamas and a Mets sweatshirt Charles bought him four Christmases ago. His hair is sticking up everywhere, and Amy’s struck by an intense urge to ruffle it. She squeezes the gloves she has in her hand instead. 

“Hi!” she says, because she really has no idea what she’s doing. Jake stares blankly. “We’re going out?” she tries, because he didn’t say anything in reply. 

He reaches out to poke her shoulder and nods when she furrows her forehead. “So this definitely isn’t a dream,” he says, before blushing for some reason while he takes a step back. “Let me change” 

She walks in and sits on his couch as he changes clothes, noticing the take out boxes that litter his coffee table. She collects them and takes them into the kitchen, where she finds a garbage bag to throw them all into. There are some dishes that are piling up in his sink, and she washes those too, smiling when Jake walks in and grabs a drying cloth to help her.

“Thanks,” he murmurs as he puts away a plate, and she knows he’s embarrassed at the mess, a little. 

“No problem.” 

“Are we going anywhere in particular, or just out?” He leans against the countertop and Amy can see the how dark the circles under his eyes have gotten. She wonders if he’s slept more than a few hours since Roger left, or if he’s been swimming in a constant replay of everything that went down, like she would if it were her. 

She should have done this earlier. Gina was right, this is her job — to understand when Jake gets like this, just like he understands her. To help, because she knows more than anyone what it feels like. Jake would have been there for her the first night, with ice cream and a box of chamomile tea for her to make, and he wouldn’t have left until she felt better. 

“Amy?” 

She blinks, shoving her guilt away, because she’s here now. Amy can’t fix her poor decisions, but she can try to help now, in whatever way she can. She claps her hands together. “We’re going out to the park.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I was too busy to join the intramural softball league this year and I miss it.” Also, because one of the few memories Jake has ever mentioned of his father involved a pee-wee baseball league, and she wants to give him something of that back if she can. 

Not that she…wants to be his dad or anything. Just…good memories. Whatever. It’s a good idea, she knows it is. 

Besides, Jake loves baseball. He always came to her championship games, and his post-game wrap up was surprisingly professional, if a little offensive towards the opposition. She always enjoyed it a little too much for comfort.

He nods, running to get his own glove. “Have you had breakfast?” she asks, because she knows he didn’t. Neither of them is very good at remembering to eat when stressed. She takes his lack of response as a confirmation and grabs a can of orange soda to go with the cereal she has in the trunk of her car. She picked up some pancakes too, but there’s something to be said about the familiar. 

Jake walks back in with his glove, wearing a pair of old track pants, a soft Mets jersey and NYPD baseball hat to cover the state of his hair, and Amy has to bite her lips against the warmth in the pit of her stomach. Objectively, he doesn’t even look that good, she’s certainly seen better from him. 

Amy wants to kiss him on the mouth, run her fingers across his cheekbones and through his hair. She takes a deep breath, exhales and smiles when he tilts his head. She hands him his thermos as they walk out, collected her stuff from the coffee table and waiting outside as he locks the door. He takes a sip after they’ve gotten into her car and smiles softly, cradling the thermos between his thighs. 

They reach a local park Amy had googled last night and find a patch of grass close close enough to the parking lot that Amy will be able to bring out the pancakes and cereal later. By her calculations the heat sealed container she kept the pancakes in will last at least two more hours so they should be fine. They leave the thermoses under a tree and put on their gloves. 

Amy throws the ball, smaller than the softballs she’s used to, and watches as Jake catches it easily. She used to play baseball with her family too, actually. There were so many of them that they could almost play a game — four and four with Manuel serving as pitcher for both sides. 

They haven’t played in years. She should suggest it at the next big reunion. 

Jake throws the ball back perfectly which is harder than it looks, and they fall into a rhythm. Back and forth and back again, each one stepping back every so often to make it a little harder for the other person. 

If she’s a little turned on by Jake’s easy competence, at the way his wrist flicks and his bicep twitches and his lips turn up lazily at a good throw, well, no one will ever know. She tries not to stare too long, anyway. 

“How’s the case going,” she asks eventually. He throws the ball, before answering. 

“It’s going pretty well. The last real lead was four years ago so I’m mostly trying to track down where everyone is right now, see if any of the suspects have slipped up recently. Nothing really exciting.” 

“You’re good at that though,” she says, because he really is. Better than her even, when he’s in a particular frame of mind. Jake’s got a particular knack with cold cases, especially if they weren’t originally his. His mind can make all these connections that wouldn’t have even occurred to most people, and some of his strangest hunches have panned out in the most amazing ways.

“Thanks,” he says, throwing the ball up in a facsimile of a pop fly. She moves to where the ball will land, raises the glove over her head and catches it, smirking at the satisfying sound of the ball plopping right into her waiting hand. Glove. Whatever. She sends him a grounder, watches as he moves quickly and scoops it up, neatly throwing it back to her in one fluid motion. 

Not attracted. Nope, not at all. Never. 

He sighs after a few more minutes. “My dad used to coach my Little League team,” he says but Amy can’t quite figure out his tone. 

“Oh?” She tries to sound surprised, wincing at how fake she sounds. He laughs, catching the ball she throws.  

“Yeah, baseball was something we both liked. It was our thing that we did together.” He frowns, tossing the ball up and catching it before lobbing it in her direction. She has to take a few steps to the right to catch it. 

“I played in school,” he says, focusing his attention at the grass near her feet. “I always figured that I’d impress him when he came back, but he never really did.” 

Suddenly, Amy is struck by the thought that this might have been a terrible idea. Somehow, Jake must know because he looks up and shakes his head. “Baseball’s still my favorite.” Amy exhales, hating how easy it was for him to make her feel better. 

“So,” Jake asks, scooping up another grounder, “what did you want to talk about?” 

“Nothing!” Amy responds automatically, so frozen with panic that she misses the ball completely and has to chase it down. When she comes back she can see Jake squirming in place, obviously uncomfortable with what the both know is a lie. It’s just -- she thought she’d have more time, that she could casually bring up his dad, that they would have finished their breakfast, that--

“I’m worried about you,” Amy blurts out before she can convince herself not to speak, the anxiety of this morning and the entirety of the last week leaking into her stomach. “You haven’t been yourself since your dad left and I don’t know why.” 

Immediately, she notices the panic touching the turn of his lips, tightening the skin around his eyes, and Amy wants nothing more than to take her words back. Stupid, stupid, stupid to think that she could help, that he’d want to talk about this with  _ her _ when he has Gina and Rosa and Charles and Terry and Captain Holt even who are all far better at this than stupid Amy Santiago. 

“I’m sorry,” Amy fiddles with the ball, fingers mindlessly tracing the seam, “I just....”  _ You’re one of my best friends and I hate seeing you like this and also I think you’re pretty cute.  _ “I’m sorry.” 

Jake takes one step forward, and then another, and then he keeps walking until he’s right in front of Amy who’s a few words away from a full blown panic attack. For some reason he seems to pause at her face, and if she was braver she would try to meet his eyes but she can feel the weight of his gaze on her cheekbones, her forehead, her lips. She watches his chest rise and fall before she feels his hand cover hers, both molding around the baseball she’s still clutching. 

Amy looks up. Jake, who smiles small, sharp in a way that makes Amy nervous.

“Don’t be sorry, Ames. It’s not that complicated, really. I thought he’d be different, but he wasn’t. I’m not going to fall for it next time.” 

“You cut off your dad?” Amy’s eyes widen when he nods and she’s lost again, but for a different reason. She thought that if she could just  _ talk _ to Jake, she could figure out how to help, how to make this better but now she isn’t so sure. 

A year ago, Amy would have said that she knew exactly how to deal with Jake Peralta no matter the issue, but everything is so different now. There’s a part of her that wants to blame this on the fact that she likes him, but she knows that a year ago Jake would never have given up on his dad, no matter how much Roger deserved it.

She looks at Jake, messy hair floofing under his baseball cap, slightly broken smile on his lips and wonders when he kind of sort of grew up. Amy takes her hand out of the glove and drops it on the ground, letting go of the baseball as gives Jake a hug that, a year ago would have lasted for a few minutes but ends the moment she realizes that he smells like detergent and yesterday’s yellow mustard (and is endeared instead of appalled.)

Jake takes a step back and holds up his mitt, asking for the ball. She tosses a gentle underhand and smiles when he takes another step back, because she knows this game too.

“Did you tell him?” A simple question, because Amy doesn’t really know how to do this. Uncharted territory has never been her specialty.

Jake laughs, a sound Amy pretends doesn’t immediately lighten her mood because she absolutely cannot be that type of girl. “I told him he was a shitty dad, and then I stole his Captain’s hat.” He throws the ball back and smiles when Amy takes a step backwards after catching it. 

“What are you going to do?” Another easy question. She can do this. 

“I don’t know. What I’m doing now, I guess.” Jake shrugs, and then rolls his eyes when Amy glares. “Fine. Maybe I won’t take as many cold cases....it was just....hard, you know? I only deleted his number yesterday.” 

So he’s really serious then. Amy, who has called her father every Sunday since she first moved out, feels her heart break a little more. “Have you talked to your mom about it?” She throws the ball. 

“No, oh my god. I can’t. No way.” Jake looks horrified at the thought as he catches, steps back and throws in another one of those fluid motions that makes Amy’s stomach clench. 

“You have to tell her at some point, right?” Though knowing Jake...her stomach clenches again, this time because she knows exactly how dumb he’s capable of being

“Nope!” Jake smiles wide, and Amy, despite a faint sinking feeling, does too. Suddenly, the weird tension breaks, and she realizes how little has changed. For all the growing up Jake needed to do in order to get here, he’s always going to be the guy who puts orange soda in his cereal. 

There’s a part of her that kind of loves it, if she’s’ being honest with herself. (She rarely is, about this.) 

He’s still  _ Jake _ , her brilliant, idiotic, kind, disaster of a partner and if Roger Peralta doesn’t want to play baseball with him, then she, Amy Santiago, will pick up the slack. But like, not in a weird dad way or anything. A friend way. ( _ Girlfriend way _ , her brain supplies before she can squash it down.) 

Amy throws, hard and straight and true, and grins when she hears the  _ thwap  _ as it hits the pocket of Jake’s glove. He takes a step back, and reciprocates, an easy rhythm starting to develop as they throw and catch and step. It feels as natural and wonderful as anything Amy has ever done in her life. 

“I’m proud of you kid,” she says eventually, because the sun is shining today, a week after Jake has finally kicked his idiot, deadbeat father to the curb. 

“Thanks,” Jake replies, sending her a pop fly. “Can we eat now?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha. h a. like always, im going to promise to post on a relatively normal schedule. I LOVE AND APPRECIATE ALL YOUR COMMENTS I SWEAR THEY MAKE MY DAY EVEN IF I DONT ReSPOND IMMEDIATELY!! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST IN THE UNIVERSE !!


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